


The Flicker

by RilesBiles



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: AND BY GOOD, Angst, Blood, Broken Bones, Gore, I MEAN HORRIBLE AND IM SORRY, I might split this into two fics?, I'm sitting here thinking huh anyone who tortures jack Is horrible but HERE I AM BOYS, Infection, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Illnesses, Oh, Recovery, Torture, YALLL THIS SHIT GONNA GET G O O D, aaaaaaaaaaa jack is my favorite bean, did I mention blood, forced YouTube videos, hmmmmmmmmm, literally this is some sensitive shit, my, theres a whole list jfc, worried not-a-boyfriend-but-almost-a-boyfriend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-11 23:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9041525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RilesBiles/pseuds/RilesBiles
Summary: Somebody save this poor boy.





	1. Skype

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all I'm about to yell right now. AAAAAAAAAH! I've been looking for any fan fictions to fulfill my satisfaction and do I find em?....not yet. I've only gotten to, like, page 12 of the septiplier fics on this website but I'm impatient as HECK. Not to mention, I'm a picky fucker, so what better way to ease myself into something comfortable, then by writing my own fic?
> 
> YES RIGHT OK. Imma say this straight up don't get your hopes up, I've never really been able to keep my interests within fandoms for more than a week at least, so this might blow over...what I can promise is it'll be longer than that, considering I'm fitting my elements into this fic, so I can promise you all that I'll Try my best. 
> 
> And the contents, please don't view them as me trying to sound cool and edgy. Half of this shit listed is from experience. The backlash I got was the reason I stopped writing, so please, don't get too upset.

It was cold.

Of course, it was winter, snow was falling lazily outside, however it was a different cold. This cold, was more psychological, an icy breeze diminishing any or all light someone could be thinking of, any happy thoughts or warm moments, and replace it with a dreadful, chilling coldness. It was cold, and Sean McLoughin couldn't stop shivering, despite the extra blanket he was provided in the dimly lit room.

His room light flickered. 

Sean couldn't bring himself to open his eyes, to move, he didn't even want to breathe as he lay, huddled into the thin blanket. His room, the room he originally felt joy in, was lit in such a way that cast shadows in the worst places. He swore that every time he took his eyes off of them, he saw them move.

And yet, he did nothing about it. He didn't dare turn on the light, and risk bringing attention to himself. Because with attention, it brought people, and with people, it brought hurt. It brought him being fucked over. It brought him learning to live within his own house without speaking a word, and in a way? He lost any motivation to care. All energy was drained from him, and blue eyes came into existence as he felt the cold air lash against the moisture in them. 

The worst part? It wasn't always like this. He used to make videos for fun, montage for fun, laugh without the fear of an act not being good enough. He took a deep breath, a wheeze releasing from his body, as the dull pain in his eye slowly came back, and the broken ribs jabbed painfully against his left lung. He felt the slashes across his body burn to life, and he bit the inside of his cheek as bruises brought on a dull throb throughout his body. Half of the cuts were infected, including a deep gash on his wrist, which oozed puss and was a deep, throbbing purple.

He was beaten, and his blood stained the clothes he currently wore, the only thing not horribly bruised was his face--aside from his eye, which he had to reassure his fans, was because he was clumsy, and his eye at the edge of a counter. In reality... a hope lay within him, that one day, his fans will realize, and it will be a big rescue mission, and the police will get involved...but it won't. He wasn't stupid enough to think that. He shifted to get up, but hissed, looking down at his leg and --to his horror-- noticed it was sticking the complete other way. He bit back a whimper, remembering what happened last night, and hissed in pain as he tried to move again.

No, it never was like this. 

The door slammed open with a bang, causing Jack to physically jump backwards, and throw the covers over his body in a way to shield himself. He couldn't face the person's eyes, only stare at their feet, as worn down converse paced across the floor at an easy pace before stopping in front of his face. Jacksepticeye hated converse. He bit his lip, feeling his body slowly begin to shake as anxiety began to slowly creep in, and after a few moments of dead silence, a voice spoke up.

"Get up."

\-------  
One year earlier  
\-------

The Irish definitely weren't morning people. Especially, when the Irish have been through jet lag and staying up until four in the morning just to talk to friends.

Sean let a low, exasperated groan escape his lips, as sunlight shone directly into his face. He turned his head away from it, growling to himself in an annoyed manner, as he felt himself slowly drift off into sleep when a screech startled him awake.

Jolting upright, bedsheets flying across the room, the man flailed about for a moment as more screeches filled the room. A hand slammed onto his desk, gripping his phone as he shook when sliding it open, and the alarm went off.

His head hit the pillow, and he stared up at the ceiling; a sigh left his lips as he placed a hand on his forehead, letting out a loud groan.

Sunday morning was cold as balls, as always.

Sean McLoughin yawned, scratching his butt in a flattering manner as he walked outside, a cup of coffee steaming in his hands as he grabbed the paper--looking at news as he walked back inside and closed the door with his bare foot...

Only it didn't click behind him.

Jack whirled on his foot, bushy eyebrows scrunching up as he rubbed at his eyes to remove any sleepiness, but he was sure...there was....a foot....? 

Setting his mug and paper down, he felt irritation slowly rise as he opened the door, looking down at a girl no older than seventeen standing there brightly.

He slammed the door in her face.

A smile graced his lips, as he took a step towards his staircase, but before he could even put his foot down, the doorbell rang. The noise echoed in his head, as his smile fell into a slight scowl. Oh, Jesus, there was only SO much he could handle in the mornings.. 

He took a deep breath, moving to take a few more steps when the doorbell rang again.

"Arrgh! For the love of!" Jack yelled, spinning on his heel and throwing open the door.

"Hi, Mr. McLoughin!"

The voice chirped merrily through the crisp air, as the younger girl smiled warmly up at the older man. Jack rubbed his eyes, leaning against the doorframe, before bringing his hands down and staring at the teenager. "What."

His tone didn't have any bubbly warmth in it, nope, not today. His blue eyes showed nothing but annoyance and tiredness as they bore into light green. 

"Well, I'm just here to remind you that my offer is still open!" She said, trying to surprises a laugh at the older man's death glare. Jack leaned forward--close enough to where a blush formed across her face-- before mocking her laugh, stepping back... 

He slammedthe door in her face.

Feeling a flicker of satisfaction, the green-haired man went about his day, resuming more of a bubbly demeanor as he poured another cup of coffee and went upstairs to his recording room. The girl left her mind, and after doing a quick vlog--an update of his life now that he's home from the con-- he went along to try record, despite his eyes being a little bleary as jet-lag wore the Irish man down. After cutting off the recording, Jack decided to finally get dressed out of his pajamas. A Nice grey t-shirt, black skinny-jeans with holes around his knees, sneakers, and a comfy jacket. His stomach growled, and with a quick glance at the time, Jack noticed that it was one.

He shrugged his shoulders before leaving his house.

Ireland, actually, was nice during the winter. The grass was even more green than imaginable underneath the snow, and the sidewalk had patches of ice that would reflect the sky. Off to his right, a Lake sat, waves brushing against the cliffside as he walked into town; the cold bit at his cheeks as he rubbed at his nose to keep snot from dripping everywhere, and blue eyes glanced up at the sky as the clouds parted for a second, before a strong wind pushed the grey back into view. He was fine with that. He personally enjoyed cloudy weather, anyways. 

The walk was only fifteen minutes, and before he knew it, Jack walked himself right into the small Italian Restaurant at the end of the Main Street. He was met with an overwhelming warm breeze, along with a smell of really good pasta. His stomach grumbled the second he stepped foot inside, and Jack couldn't help but place a hand over it as he walked casually up to the counter, where an employee was scrolling through his instagram feed. The man looked up from his phone, brown eyes meeting blue as a welcoming smile settled onto his face.

The only thing that ruined the atmosphere, really, was that the man had a normal Irish accent. He always got disappointed in that, hoping for a strong Italian, to complete the Aesthetic of the warm building. "Ah, Jack! You're back from you're trip? What'dya want today?" The man, better known as Mason, bounced on his feet as he went over to the register. Jack felt a bubble of pleasant-feeling grow in his chest as he felt a tinge of gratitude towards the man from the warm welcome. 

"Yeah, It was real nice. America's great. Ever been?" He asked, before ordering. Mason typed away at the register, as Jack fumbled through his wallet and handed him the correct amount of money. Mason chuckled.

"Once, when I was lil'. Ma took me to New York, think it's called." Mason replied, handing Jack some change and a receipt. The cashier rested his elbows on the counter, smiling fondly. "Real busy, lots of cars. People weren't real nice, though. Couldn't imagine how many times I got lost, being the little adventurous shit I am." He chuckled. A women looked up from her paper, and scowled at the man for his language, but Mason just waved at her with a smile. "Wait, you went to the opposite coast there, right?" 

"Yeah." Jack said, as a bigger looking man came over, looking at Jack's order. Just a normal pasta, with a tomato sauce base. He felt fancy, at least. "Completely different, trust me, unless you go to Los Angeles. Ah, really big city there, not as big as New York but close." He clarified at Mason's confused face. "Went to this state called California. Completely different from the stereotype unless you go down south, yeh know, 'Surfs up shaka bra.'" He imitated, holding out his arms as he pretended he were surfing. Mason chuckled, and he continued. "Got to see a few friends." 

"Well, Mister popular, I bow at you're adventurous journey." Mason stepped back, bowing extra low, and caused Jack to chuckle and shake his head in disbelief. 

Mason and Jack had went from acquaintances to friends the more Jack came into the restaurant--which was pretty often, as the food here was definitely quality-- and Mason warmed up even to the point of cursing in Jack's presence. Mason even had a mental note of what Jack usually got, he visited that much, but hey. Good food. Jack didn't complain one bit. 

"So, meet anyone cute?" Mason asked, leaning in closer and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Jack huffed, pushing at his shoulders.

"Oh, shove off." 

"Come on now, you can't be serious. Not one cutie? No one who caught you're eye?" Mason suggested, leaning back a little as he went to take another person's order. Jack paused, chewing his lip some more, though nothing really came up for him at the moment. Though, he did have one moment with Mark, but they both had laughed it off. He didn't go into detail, as his cheeks reddened in the slightest and he rolled his shoulders to shake the memory off.

"Yeah, the only cute thing was someone with the body of a man and a face of a baby." He joked, rolling his eyes--though for some reason, this got Mason excited.

"OOH! Is it that Fischbach guy you're talking about? You know, the one who got you into youtube and whatnot?" Jack's jaw dropped as Mason continued. "You described him as that the first time you mentioned him. Wait, was that the guy you went to see?" Mason eyed him questioningly, before continuing anyways. "You know, you coulda told me you were gay, woulda been okay with it."

"Whoa whoa, whoa." Jack waved his hands in front of him. "No way. I'm not into Mark. And besides, I'm not gay...I'm bi, really." The man raised his eyebrow. "It was a joke, man, his whole fandom calls him cute, so I went with it." Mason now had a shit eating grin, which Jack felt an urge to smack off of him. "B'sides, he's gotta girlfriend. Real cute one, actually, glad for him. She seemed really nice when I met her, perfect match for him."

Just then. the food he ordered arrived. Mason did the usual, putting it into a box, then wrapping it in a bag. Despite take-out not being an option unless you sit down and want to have some leftovers for later, Jack seemed to be that exception to Mason, which caused Jack to smile. He took the bag from his outstretched hand. "Well, Jack, if you're looking to date somebody, you got this." Mason winked at him, and Jack laughed as he exited the restaurant. 

He was practically attacked from the cold, so he pulled his jacket close as he went on his way. 

Christmas was in a week, and of course, he needed to get presents for his friends. Hey, maybe even something for Mason, despite the fact that they have never really hung out outside of his job. He continued down the street, passing some antique shops, and a few candy and furniture stores. The Pizza parlor smelled heavenly, but Jack had to restrain himself at the fact that he already had food. He continued his journey, pausing at the park as he decided to plop down at one of the benches and look out into the lake. He opened up his box, grabbing the plastic fork from inside, and decided to chow down.

"Mister McLoughin!"

He nearly broke his spoon from clamping down so suddenly. Before he knew it, the spot next to him was taken--and who else could it be Rebecca Clark. Jesus, this girl was persistent. Was he being stalked or something? He shrugged off the idea, grunting a hello as he took another bite of his pasta, feeling a tad uncomfortable at her sudden appearance. She said nothing, though, and stared out into the lake for a long moment of silence.

Of course, she was the one who broke it. "You know, you're being really rude. I'm only trying to help you're channel." That caused his eyes to narrow considerably. "You should be grateful someone's reaching out." That caused his head to turn. Just who WAS this girl?

"Look. I get you're offer, but you need to stop. I said no. The answer is no. Especially to what you asked a few days ago--Absolutely not." He shot back, taking a furious bite of his pasta as he shivered from the cold. Brown eyes narrowed back at him.

"But why?"

"Cause you're a minor, and I'm an adult. Simple as that."

"That hasn't stopped anyone before."

"More like, the police have stopped them after they tried. No way in hell. Besides, you're not my type, hell I feel no attraction to you whatsoever. I understand if you think you're helping me, but you need to cut it out." Jack's mood had dropped sour, as he turned on the girl. "I don't like you, so I wont go out with you. Why the hell did you even ask that? Second, no, I'm not letting you help my channel. I run it my way, and my way only. If my subs decrease according to your 'calculation', fine by me." The girl's hands clenched. "Now, quit following me. You've gone at it for two weeks. You've somehow ran into me 'coincidentally' outside of my house. Hell, how did you even get my address anyways?" Now, Jack was just ranting. His patience had worn thin on this girl. "If you stop by my house again, I wont even hesitate on calling the police. Got it? I told you to stop multiple times, but you just wont listen. Leave me alone." And with that, Jack got up, huffing and throwing his plastic container and half-eaten pasta out, and left the girl on the bench before she could say any more.

He hated being rude. But you know, there are exceptions when you have to be. He told himself this as he briskly walked down the pathway towards the main street again, repeating countdowns in his head to calm himself down as he made his way straight home. Shopping could wait for tomorrow. He could always do it online, anyways.

He managed not to slam the door behind him, and locked it behind him before going over to his couch and face planted. God. He pressed his face against the pillow, taking a deep breath, before letting out a loud, muffled groan into the fabric, and decided to lay there for a bit.

His stomach growled, and he wanted to hit himself for throwing away his lunch without even finishing it, though he refused to go back outside and risk running into that girl again. He'll just have to order pizza.

Night fell.

Jack was scrolling through his youtube feed on his phone, biting into a pizza with his other hand, as he had already finished watching Mark's uploads for today. Hey, he even commented, though as usual he got a swarm of notifications afterwards. He turned them off with a swipe of his finger, when his screen went dark for a split second.

A stupid picture of Mark appeared as a skype notification, and Jack answered.

"Did you just steal the spotlight you little shit?" The question caused jack to inhale sharply in surprise--resulting in nearly choking on his pizza and laughing. Mark peered into the camera, eyes glaring daggers despite Jack slamming his hand on the table in a time-out gesture. "You're feeding off of my followers, fuck you man." Mark resisted bursting into giggles--though failed at Jack's red face as the Irish man finish his coughing fit.

"I don't need yer videos, fuck off laddie." Was the wheezy retort, and Mark lost it for a good moment. His chuckling subsided, as he grinned. 

"How are you recovering? Made it home okay?" 

"Oh don't warm up to me shitface. I nearly died right now and you're asking if I made it home okay." Jack swallowed hard, soothing his throat from his little fit, before sighing and watching the screen for a moment. Mark's friends were in the background on the couch, though Mark sat on the counter in the kitchen with a warm smile on his face, and Jack couldn't help but do the same in response. "It's nice, I suppose. Just relaxed for today. Got to talk to Mason for a bit. Shithead accused me of liking you." He chuckled, and Mark scowled.

"Oh come on. What's not to like?" Mark leaned back a little, flexing with a wink, and Jack rolled his eyes and flipped the camera on his phone to it showed darkness. His case was misfitted, so the camera was partially covered. "No need to be in denial, Jackaboy~" Mark called, rolling up his sleeve and flexing. 

"Oh my god, wheres the hangup button!" Jack complained, ready to end the call when Mark leaned forward.

"Wait wait, come on! Tell me about you're day dude. What's it like in Ireland. You never really told me about where you live, anyways." This caused Jack to pause, moving his hand away from his screen after flipping his camera back. Mark's face lit up more at seeing Jack's.

"Oh, right. I live right on this lake. Its cold as shit because of it man, something about bodies of water makes it cold as balls. But the piece of fuck only freezes over a few years at a time, so it's relatively warmer this year, which fuckin sucks. What the point of a lake that doesn't freeze in the snow?" He asked, grumbling as he rested his head in his elbows as he stared at the screen. Mark didn't say anything, so he continued. "Surprised I haven't talked about it before. It's kinda a big thing, skating on that lake. I could tell you I'm a natural." Actually, Jack was deemed amazing by a lot, but that was because he skated at rinks outside of winter. It was actually really fun to him. "Lot's a folks spend time there. 'Specially couples, which is gross."

"Oh, so romantic. Wait, Irish can get dates?" 

"Racist." 

There was a snort of a reply, and Jack continued. "Its a smaller town, but nice. Better than where I lived before, actually, it was relatively smaller than this. We have a main street, which branches out to more streets, and my house is right along the water. There's also a park.." He trailed off, eyes narrowing at his encounter earlier, and Mark noticed the shift in mood.

"Jack? You good?" Mark asked, and Jack sighed, rolling his shoulders as he sat up straighter and rubbed the back of his neck. 

"Can I confess somethin kinda weird?" He asked, struggling to word what he wanted to say. Mark was silent, so he continued. "There was this girl who arrived at my doorstep, claiming she was a fan. I got kinda alarmed, cause you know, I didn't give my personal address out to my fans, only a mailing address, ya know? And she comes abruptly to ask if she could help out with my channel. And, you know me, wanting to be more independent, shrugged her off. But she came back at lunch, and at dinner, and the next day, and continued on. Hell, she's woken me up by banging on the door. She's fuckin persistent!" He grumbled, rubbing at his eyes. He didn't look at the screen, knowing the look that mark ought to be giving him right now. His eyes narrowed. "Then she claimed my channel was dyin', and she could help. I slammed the door in her face that time." He winced at how much of a dick he sounded.

"But she came back a few hours later, and you know what she does? She asked me out! I thought she was fuckin insane, so I turned her down immediately and closed the door." Mark frowned at this, he could tell despite not looking at the screen. "And the worst part? She's a minor. Seventeen, she had told me. I'm not about to date a minor and risk getting sent to jail or something stupid, not to mention, she was fuckin creepy!" He was rambling now, knee bouncing against the floor.

"Jack..."

"But no, she came back after that too, and asked again. And today, at the park, she confronted me and sat down next to me and I just lost it on her? I told her to leave me alone and threatened her with the police. Hell, I'm about ready to do it, too. If she arrived tomorrow, I might go insane or something. I've been asked out a few times, but not by asking me something so rude and saying 'hey, you're channels dying, date me so I can help you.'." He sighed, closing his eyes as he hit his head against the counter, causing the camera to vibrate slightly on his end. 

"Shit, sorry Mark. Didn't mean to let that all out on you." He grumbled, blue eyes meeting the screen. "Must be jet lag causing my mood to go sour, I dunno." 

Mark hesitated, before speaking up. "You know, I don't blame you for acting up...And by a few weeks ago, you didn't mean the week you were over here, right?" Jack realized his mistake, before nodding his head. "I'd definitely be mad. You had a whole week to be gone, and you come back to her, again, not taking the hint. Sometimes you gotta be deliberate. And...are you sure she's stalking you?" He clarified, just pressing for details in a more cautious manner. He liked that about Mark. The big, bubbling oaf was gentle when it came to serious topics.

"Yeah. I've run into her multiple times when walking down main street. Always when I'm alone. If someone else is around, she keeps her distance, but I've seen her once or twice." He shivered, though unknown to him, there was a soft click of a lock being picked at. Jack sighed, ruffling his green hair. "Part of me feels guilty. But I don't wanna apologize. I feel creeped out by her! I really don't want to see her again? Man, if all my subscribers were like this.." He didn't want to finish that sentence. With a huff, he picked up his phone, heading up the stairs. 

Jack paused, looking down the hallway to the front door. It was cracked open, just a tad. His eyebrows knit, as he slowly walked forward, ignoring Mark asking what was going on. His hand gripped the doorhandle--before he suddenly yanked it open with a glare.

Nothing.

He was imagining things. He thought he had locked the damned thing, but this wasn't the first time his memory failed him like this. He's left it open all night once on accident, so he wasn't so surprised. "Sorry, nothin. Thought I locked the damned thing and scared the shite outta myself." Jack grunted, and Mark couldn't help but burst into laughter. Jack grinned at the screen, feeling the anxious feeling seep from his body, as he locked the door again. He checked the time, noticing it was getting pretty late. For mark, it must've been what...Two? It was currently Ten pm, and Jack popped his shoulders in a stretch as he hopped up the stairs. "Oh right, you said you were seein somebody, right Mark?" He asked him as he opened the door to his room, falling onto his bed with a huff.

"Oh, right, yeah. She's real sweet, actually. Name's Amy, you met her, didn't you?" Mark asked, and Jack nodded his head, causing the redhead to break into a doofy grin. "We're officially together. Pretty happy. Chica loves her--though not as much as you, to be honest. I was expecting her to follow you onto that plane." At the mention of Mark's dog, Jack broke into a warm grin.

"I woulda let her, she's too cute." Mark's smile was replaced with a scowl. "Jesus, I'm joking, I'm joking man. Hows everyone doing after I left, anyways? I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to Tyler, actually, could you do that for me after this call?" At the sound of his name, a certain man with curly brown hair looked up from the couch. He turned, squinting slightly, before noticing Jack on the phone.

"Oh! Hi Jack!" Tyler yelled, and a blue head popped up as well to wave. Jack grinned as Mark held up the screen, and waved at the others, before Mark took over again.

"They're doing fine, taking up the couch again, Assholes!" He directed the last word behind him loudly, and he was replied with chuckling. "Tyler actually told me to say goodbye to you. So, bye!"

The shithead hung up on him. Jack sat in silence for a few minutes, before calling Mark, who picked up. "Oh, Hi jack! What's up?"

"Shithead!" Mark laughed, and Jack felt it being really contagious as he began to laugh along. The floorboards in the house creaked, but Jack paid no mind to it as he smiled at the man on the other end. "Oh, shit. I forgot my pizza." Jack leaned up, grunting at the effort as he stood at his feet. Mark huffed slightly. 

"Shit, you and you're pizza. You ate, like, an entire box when you were over here." Jack scowled at the screen, as he exited his room--shivers ran up his spine as his gut suddenly clenched in alarm, and his smile faded to confusion-- before heading down the hallways. Mark paused to look at him, noticing the faded smile, and before he couldn't see him in the dark hallway. Jack fumbled for the light, though gave up as he turned to head down the stairs.

"What can I say? I love pizza, man. God, you know, its really funny, I was starting to talk to Mason an-" 

He was cut off when something hit the back of his head.  
\-----

Mark wasn't paying full attention, not at the background or anything, only on Jack's face. He was alarmed, at first, that he had said something wrong, or that he insulted Jack--but his face got hidden in the shadows of his house, so he couldn't tell if he still had that expression on. When Jack spoke up again, Mark sat up a little more as he peered at the screen...

A sudden cry of pain caused his friends on the couch to look up, as mark stared at the screen in horror. The phone obviously dropped from his friends hands, bouncing down the stairs as there was a loud thud. He heard the sound of something breaking--he assumed was the screen of the phone, and the sound of--to Mark's horror--what everyone guessed was Jack's body as he fell down the stairs and landed at the bottom, silent. Mark couldn't see what was happening, as there was a loud creak and a low, groan of pain, but other than that, nothing. A dead silence.

"Jack? Jack, oh my god, hey! Are you okay?" Mark demanded, and in that instant, both Tyler and Ethan were by his side and staring at the screen. Was Jack unconscious? Shit, did they have to call an ambulance? A thousand thoughts were going through his mind, when he assumed Jack picked up the phone. He couldn't really clarify, as the call abruptly ended before the screen could focus, and the notification 'BooperDooper was typing...' appeared in the chat area.

He was just about to call when the next appeared.

'Hey! shit, sorry, i fell. Phone's completely busted so i ended the call'

Mark seemed to relax, before typing quickly.

'Are you okay? That sounded bad. Did something hit you? It sounded like you cried out before you fell?'

'That was me, a shirt fell out of my laundry basket on the steps and I tripped over it, yell of surprise?'

He was about to type more when another text bubble appeared.

'Sorry. Phones glitchin and clyyyycking everywhere. ttyl'

Mark set down the phone, feeling dread slowly fill his stomach as he didn't dare look at his friends. He debated for a long moment, before picking his phone up, hesitantly sending a reply.

'Hope you're okay'


	2. Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn't look.

Jack didn't move.

He didn't look up, either.

No, he stared down at the busted up converse in front of him, trying to ease his nerves when he felt his body quiver in the person's presence. He bit the inside of his cheek harshly when the silence drew out, and he slowly sat up to shift his weight when a sharp pain shot up his entire leg. It was agony. 

When Jack was little, he remembered the time that, once, he had broken his wrist. At his school, there was a small park outside of the fence, where kids would always go after the last class had ended--Jack included. He would run around, climb trees, go on the swings and jump off when he swung at a satisfying height. One day, he was on the monkey bars, the day after a rain shower, and the little five year old didn't realize that the metal was slick and wet. 

He ran to his mom, crying and holding his wrist. When his mom asked him if he wanted to leave, Jack had stepped back with horror on his face. 'No way! I havn't got my hour!' Jack remembered complaining, stepping back and cradling his tender wrist. His mother, who hadn't realized the severity of his injury, merely sat back and opened up the newspaper again as Jack ran off to go play.

They wen't to the hospital thirty minutes after when his mother noticed that he nearly fell climbing a tree. He remembered practically bouncing when he was getting one of those professional x-rays, where everyone in the room hid behind glass while Jack was in the middle of the room. The boy pretended he was being a superhero in the making, and more than once, the doctor had to put him back into place to get a proper x-ray due to him getting rowdy. The doctor said it was broken, took months to heal, and had to set it back into place before giving Jack a cast. Everyone at school had signed it, and before anyone knew it, he was back at the park better than every with a green cast lining his arm.

This, however, was far worse pain than Jack could imagine. His entire leg throbbed with each heartbeat, causing instinctive water to rush to his eyes..which he quickly wiped away with his sleeve. He shifted his weight again onto his good foot, trembling as he pushed his body against his wall, nausea overwhelming him. He couldn't make himself look down at his own leg, not wanting to look at the way it stuck forward, not backwards, or how it twisted awfully and stuck out unnatural and oh god, Jack was going to be sick. He gagged, leaning against the wall as he squeezed his eyes shut, and pushed more on the wall.

Getting up was agonizingly slow, but the person was patient. When he got up finally, he balanced on his foot, hand on the wall and breathing heavily, however didn't dare look up into the person's eyes. 

"Follow me, hurry up." The person said in a gruff tone, before spinning on their heels, strolling out of the door casually.

Jack uttered a swear, using the wall as his leverage as he did his best to follow. Fire built up in his leg, causing a stray tear to fall as his vision practically doubled. A migraine plagued him, and he coughed horribly once he managed to grip the door frame, wheezing. The hallway twisted in odd angels, and Jack resisted the urge to throw up when he felt bile building up in his throat. 

He could do it. He could do it. He shuffled against the hallway walls, watching as the person went down the stairs, and dread filled his stomach. He shook his head, trying to clear his vision as he felt incredibly hot, and when he took another step, he fell with a yelp.

He landed on his bad leg, and let out a pained yell as tears rushed to his eyes out of instinct. He felt ringing in his ears, as his vision tripled, and he felt nausea build up unbearably until he lifted himself up and puked on the tiles on his hallway. His stomach clenched horribly, as he gagged and hurled again, and vomit splattered on the ground. He felt like a helpless child, as he attempted to get to his feet, only for his arms to wobble and cause him to collapse. Thankfully, away from the vomit. The searing pain flared for a good minute, as Jack forced air into his lungs.

There he lay, as he whimpered and spluttered, trying to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth as the nausea gradually decreased. He heard a 'Tsk tsk' from down the hallway, but couldn't bring himself to look when the person came back to crouch beside him. He got a whiff of peppermint from the close proximity, mixed with his own bile, as his chin was forcibly grabbed and Jack was forced to look into dark, brown eyes. "Look at you, pathetic piece of shit." The person spat, and Jack flinched when he felt specks of saliva hit his face. "Can't even follow simple orders?" With that, he dropped Jack, his head landing ungracefully in his own vomit. "Get up!"

Jack whimpered, mumbling something, when the person delivered a quick kick to his stomach that caused him to lose his breath and wheeze. "Speak up!"

"I-I can't.." Was the reply the figure got, as his vision swam some more as he struggled to get his bearings.

"And why not?" The figure demanded, voice threatening. He knew he should shut up. He knew he should get to his feet and follow the person. But right now, he couldn't do anything. His entire being screamed of agony, and he could do nothing but splutter and cry.

"M-my leg...you broke my leg!" He yelled, tears streaming down his face as he finally looked up at his captor. 

Silence fell the house, and Jack knew he made a mistake. His captor slowly got up, before suddenly a foot connected with his jaw. Jack let out a startled cry, the man flipped onto his back from his force as he cradled his jaw, and he felt a weight on hi stomach. He looked up, expecting him to do something horrible, but the man was sitting with his back facing him. Jack was about to say something, anything, when the person roughly set his bone back into place.

Jack screamed, head roughly hitting the floor as his body jerked as if he were having a seizure. Pain overrode his entire body, shaking him to his core as he felt his vision completely go out, however the ringing in his ears never ceased. Sweat leaked through his clothes as his chest heaved with pants, as hands reached out to grip at the floorboards and his back arched once he bit back another gut-wrenching scream.

His vision steadily came back as he was left there, whimpering pathetically as he saw black spots. He felt a pressure on the back of his shirt, and the hallway moved...or rather, he was dragged, and forced back into his room and onto the mattress on the floor. 

"Don't raise your voice at me again, you got that?" Was the only response Jack got, and with that, the door slammed.

He was filled with pants and groans, his body temperature overwhelmingly hot as he let out a sickened groan. His vision wasn't getting better, if anything worse, as the cold air seemed to sink into his entire being as he lay spread out. He managed to turn on his side, and since the break in his leg was in his shin, managed to pull his knees to his chest in a fetal position as his breath came out in puffs.

His bedroom light flickered, and Sean closed his eyes.

\----  
One year ago  
\----  
Jack couldn't move, really.

His head was throbbing with an intense pain, leaving him practically immobile. His vision was blurry, and whatever sounds left his throat, didn't reach his ears for himself to hear. Blue eyes stared, wide, at the wall in front of him, from where he lay, as he felt a sticky substance leak from the back of his head and to the ground around him with every throb of his heart. He willed his body to move, but only in reply was a twitch of his fingers. So he tried again. His wrist twitched, and he slowly brought his hand to his face and rubbed his eyes with a shuddering breath. Slowly, carefully, he reached his other hand out, to where he think his phone might have landed. 

He needed to call 999. 

Finally, he could hear, as he felt himself let out a low groan of pain, once his hand slapped against to tiles to find no phone. He turned his head to look, but the walls doubled, and the ringing in his ears increased when he moved his head, so he stopped, moving his body so he was on his back. His head was pounding to the point that he couldn't even think on his situation, instead focusing on his steady breathing. 

It took what he assumed minutes, for his vision to stop swimming, but the pain in his head was unbearable. Even the breeze of the open door hitting his face hurt like a bitch.

Wait...Open door...

Eyes slowly trailed to his front door, which was open, the moonlight shining through just enough to light the greeting mat on the floor inside. It took him long, far too long, to connect the dots. The door was opened...something hit him in the back of the head...

"S...." His mouth felt like there were cotton swabs in his mouth, as he struggled to lift himself up unsuccessfully. He bit the inside of his cheek from crying out, as he gripped the floor beneath him and again, had to steady his breathing. "M...Mark?" He croaked, wondering if, maybe, his phone was somewhere nearby, and he hoped desperately that his American friend was still in the video chat with him.

"Hello, McLoughin." Jack froze, feeling his heart quicken as an unnatural coolness befell his body. Slowly, he turned his head, careful of the wound, to stare at a figure to his right. Whoever they were, wore a mask, it being illuminated by a phone.

His phone. 

Jack struggled to get up, chest heaving, but failed when pain overrode his entire body. He moved his hand to prop himself up, but his hand slipped in a sticky substance...and to Jack's horror, realized it was his own blood, a trail of it leading to his head from the impact of the fall. He took a deep breath, quivering as he watched the figure type away at his phone, before shutting it off and sliding it into his pocket. 

"Hope you're okay." Was all the figure replied, and from his voice, it sounded like he were smiling. His blood ran cold, as whoever it was stepped towards him in a slow pace. "You took quite a fall. You really shouldn't leave you're laundry out on the stairs, _Sean_ , you almost had a...fatal accident." The person stepped over his body, going to his door. Jack twisted his body a bit, trying to crawl to his front door in a hopes to escape...but the person closed it and locked it with a click. "Mark was just so worried when you hung up on him, wouldn't you agree?" The person turned, looking down at jack. The brown eyes behind the mask showed a sign of pity, as he crouched down to get a closer look.

"Hmm..." The person mused, before standing again. Jack felt his body shake, whether it from lack of blood, or fear, and was met with darkness when a foot came into contact with his face.

\----  
Three months after  
\----

"Top of te morning to ya, laddies! My name is Jacksepticeye, and welcome to Subnautica!" 

Mark currently pressed his face into his elbow, eyebrows furrowed as he studied his screen closely. His gut feeling hadn't left him, not for an entire three months of calling Jack, but getting no reply. Ever time he texted, he got a one answer reply. Every time he offered to do a multiplayer game, the Irish man declined steadily. And now, he was making videos like nothing had happened.

Two months ago, Sean had made a vlog, stating that he had tripped and fallen down the stairs, and that he had to spend time to recover from a concussion. His fans were fretting with worry, wishing him 'Get well soon!'s and 'hope you're okay's! He had smiled like normal, though looked dazed, and while the logical side of Mark Fischbach yelled at him saying 'It's because of the concussion!', a different side of him told him 'Something is wrong!'. 

He opted to follow his logical side, since it made more sense...though he was extremely skeptical when Jack said nothing about a hospital visit. He shook his head though, deciding it wasn't exactly his business to take care of Jack's health. He wasn't his mother, anyways. As the video progressed, Jack was chuckling to himself--before bursting into laughter when his seamoth practically ran into one of the fish with a thunk. However, the man's eyes weren't crinkling with the mirth they used to. Mark couldn't find himself laughing along, watching the video until the end, when Jack waved everyone off with his usual, bubbly outro music.

Mark shut off his phone the moment Jack wasn't on camera, taking a sip of his smoothie and rubbing his eyes tiredly. God, why wouldn't this dreadful feeling go away? Every fiber in his body felt like yelling in frustration, and Mark almost complied..except there were other people in the room. Almost like one of his friends could hear his thoughts, Ethan came over, blue hair shining in the kitchen light as he sat at the counter next to him.

"Ethan?" Mark asked before Ethan could say anything. The Bluenette snapped his jaw shut from what he was going to say. "Does Jack seem...weird to you?"

"Weird? Jack's always weird." The boy sat back, resting his elbows and back against the counter. 

"I mean....weirder? Am I the only one getting this vibe?" 

"Think so. He seems like his bubbly old self, and he recovered nicely from that fall at least." Ethan shrugged his shoulders, before looking up with a nice smile as Tyler came over to the kitchen. He elbowed Ethan, who nearly stumbled out of his seat with a snicker, as Tyler opened the fridge and grabbed a coke. Diet coke. That fucker.

"Actually, I think Mark's right. Somethin's up." Tyler commented, popping open the soda and closing the fridge with his foot. He rested his elbows on the counter, taking a sip of his coke.

"See? He's like, not smiling as much." Mark frowned, glancing at Ethan, who merely shrugged. 

"Well, It's none of my business, really. As long as he's not physically hurt or in danger or somethin at the moment, I'm okay." Ethen replied, before standing and stretching until his shoulders pop. "But..." He paused to look at Mark. "Maybe...you should go visit him. The city he's in is called Carlin, right? Why not fly out when you have the time? I'm sure Jack would like the surprise." Mark stood along with him, ran a hand through his dyed hair, and sighed in content. Ethan was right, in a sense. As long as he's not in danger... But also...visiting him? The thought caused his eyebrows to scrunch together in thought. "I'll have to think about that." A surprise visit would be nice, and besides, he was still curious about the town Jack lived in. He nodded his head, turning from the others. Mark grabbed his phone from the counter, turned on skype, and typed a quick message...just something he's grown accustomed to doing once he had stopped replying.

'Hope you're okay, :)'

He didn't expect a reply, not anymore at least, as he stretched both arms above his head with a grunt. 

As began his usual routine. 

The day progressed steadily, Mark had managed to get another game in, a game called Firewatch. After playing a few parts of other games and recording those steadily, the American had decided to sit back and relax with this one. Of course, he had completed the game earlier, but it was nice to go back and enjoy the scenery before the game got dark. That was the only time he really played a game without having to worry about recording, since the camera was currently charging anyways.

He thought about Jack, and his fall, and how his videos have changed. He thought about not getting any replies, and the fact that in reality, he didn't know if Jack really were okay. And in all honestly, that thought scared the man. He liked the sense of control, in knowing whether or not his friends were okay or not, or knowing how to fix it. But he never got a reply to confirm. Only half-assed videos on his slowly dying channel...

Sometime in the middle of it all, Chica came over, sitting by his feet and resting her head on his leg. Her pleading look was met with a scratch on the head, as Mark set down his controller and scratched behind his dog's ears. Chica whined, pressing against the palm of his hand, and he scratched more lovingly and planted kisses on his dog's head and nose. He was met with tail wagging and kisses to his own face, and he chuckled before patting her head.

His phone buzzed.

He paused, shooing Chica off to go bug Tyler, as he reached into his pocket and drew it out, noticing a skype notification...and to his surprise, from Jack himself. He felt his heart warm considerably, as he opened the app, clicking on their chat.

'I will be.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I brought myself to write another chapter in just one day, lmao. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, also sorry its really short as well. I was on sorta a time limit, so I'll try my best to give you guys a fuller chapter next time!! 
> 
> Also! The town is completely made up, ran outta ideas. And in case you're wondering, in Ireland, instead of 911, they have 999 and 122. Hope that clarified.
> 
> EDIT:: I might rewrite Mark's side completely, It's literally the one thing that's bugging me in this part. It feels like I pulled it out of my ass tbh. If I update it, I'll let you guys know in the next chapter.


	3. Sickness from Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Death is approaching, Jack takes his life into his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> So, when I first started this fic, I was kinda like: Well, this is sort of a what if scenario. But, as of now, I'm dwelling into that. I've taken it upon myself to research these types of scenarios, and how certain injuries can affect someone in a long term...both physically and mentally. In this chapter, I'm exploring that. And, Nonetheless, I'm going to be adding a flicker of Hope. ;)
> 
> ALSO HEY! The accounts listed were all made up, so don't fret over their comments, lol.

The bedroom light flickered.

Jack didn't know how long he was out.

All he knew is he awoke, breathing heavily, sweat covering his skin...however he couldn't smell it. Every time he breathed in, he forced it though his mouth, as his nose was stuffed to the point that he nearly choked on his own snot. If he were in any other circumstance, however, he wouldn't be as grossed out--but in this case, he was terrified. He was sick.

He couldn't bring himself to move, as he took a deep, shaky breath--in which, his lungs stung-- before opening his eyes again.

He felt disgusting. His head was throbbing with pain and heat, and he felt like he had done a seven mile hike in under an hour. His stomach felt nauseated, and his vision swam again. His shirt was all the way soaked through, sticking to his clammy white skin as he shifted his position on the cold mattress. The light flickered off, and he knew it must've been the bulb, as he could hear the familiar sound of the shower running down the hallway.

A shaky breath left the man's lips, as he slowly attempted to bring his wrist up so he could see...but failed. It felt like he were trying to move his limbs with lead attached to them, and it was like a slap to the face how weak he was.

How did it come up to this?

He closed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath, attempting to steady his uneven breathing before he forced himself upright. He almost threw up at the sensation, but forced it all down, instead crawling over towards his computer chair. It took him a good five minutes to steady himself and ease back into the seat, and with a shaking hand, wiped the sweat off of his brows as he started up his computer.

It was so tempting to go onto the internet, to be able to contact someone about his situation--but he couldn't. He knew, for a fact, that his internet would be tracked, he had found out when he saw the desktop icon for the app used to do so. If he uninstalled it, a notification would pop up onto his attacker's phone, and he knew he would be dead. No, not dead as in trouble. Dead as in he would have a knife in his throat, and he would be found in a gutter....He squeezed his eyes shut when the screen came on, and it took him a solid minute for him to be able to see past it.

He didn't want to die.

The threat of death had been given to him onto multiple scenarios. He remembered the first time, when he refused to make videos for his kidnapper. The knife was at his throat in an instant, delivering a slow line of blood after removing the metal from his neck and locking him back in his room for a solid three days of no food, only a cup of water delivered the next morning. 

"Shit." He cursed, as he realized his mind was scrambling all over the place, and not focusing on his task. He clicked the search bar, going onto Youtube, and entering his channel, and he was about to start a new video when a notification popped up. He paused, before clicking onto it.

'December Charity Live Stream!' Watch now, Live.

Youtube had updated.

Blue eyes stared at the screen, as he his mind began to click into gear, and a million possibilities began to play into place. He felt a flicker of hope, but it was quickly diminished as he remembered the possibility of being found out, of being caught red handed and dying on the spot. His mouse slowly moved over the icon, the Live icon, tempting him with an impossible possibility that he could get out of this mess, he could get a message across, but he couldn't. _If it were live, though, people wouldn't think I'm faking it, and send help._ a voice reminded him, and he quickly swallowed the temptation down.

He was smart enough to realize, that his attacker could get a notification, and he would get caught. He was smart enough to know, that he wouldn't be able to get out of this mess--to get out of being forced to do things he didn't want to do, forced to eat moldy leftover food instead of wasting money on feeding him, to be forced into answering questions he didn't want to get answered, and be left bloody and bruised by the time the two hours of questioning were up. He knew, he would never be able to talk to Mark again, hell, the only interaction he managed to slip through undetected was when he replied to him, once, on skype. The pain he felt, as he heard the notifications from his phone, and he looked at them but couldn't risk answering, hurt more than whatever wounds he caught, and whatever torture he went through.

He wanted to skype them, but his phone was locked and his apps were deleted off of it. He wanted to run out of his house, but the doors were locked and his attacker always, always found out. He wanted to feel an emotion other than despair, which played into his life for a year. A solid fucking year. He felt spite slowly rise in his chest, and before Jack realized it, tears were falling down his hallowed cheeks, mixing with the sweat and vomit from earlier today, and all he could do was stare at his screen as emotions wracked his entire body. He wanted to scream in frustration, it was a simple click away to freedom. He could do it, he could do it, he coul--

His phone buzzed. 

He slowly tore his eyes from the screen, feeling the heaviness of dread weigh down onto his body. He used his good leg to push his chair over to his table, gripping the device into shaky, sweaty hands, and it took him longer than he initially wanted to be able to click on the notification. A message. From Mark. Part of him didn't want to read the message, not wanting to feel the hopelessness in being unable to reply. He took a few shallow breaths, closing his eyes as he gripped the screen tightly between his hands, before opening the message

'What's your address?'

\----  
Yesterday  
\----

Ayumix  
'Is Jack being Abused?'

He read the message on Jack's latest video, eyes scanning the sentence over and over. Two hundred likes. Ninety nine comments. All from a small account who seemed to be thinking the same thing Mark has been wondering for a while now. Its almost as if his stomach twisted into a knot, and he held his breath, wanting to join into the conversation...but he knew, that would fuel it.

'He's been acting so weird! and did u see his wrist?' He read, and that caused Mark to pause, reading onto the next comment.

'+Ayumix no, i havent, when does he show his wrist?'

'+Dragonsage11 when he high fived the camera!'

'+Ayumix quit with the conspiracies, if he were being abused, it would be more obvious. why isn't his face fucked up?'

'+dank666 I mean, think about it, if he got fucked up in the face, it would be so obvious that the abuser would be caught instantly.'

'Oh no, what if he is? is he ok?'

'+11111969600 I doubt he's being hurt, don't listen to this bullshit'

'+dank666 but did you look at his wrist??'

Mark took a deep breath, looking away for a moment before scrolling back to the video. He dragged the button all the way back to the beginning, letting it go before quickly pausing when Jack's wrist was in view. It was blurry, but when Mark squinted his eyes, he could see....purple. It was purple, and there was blood, at least he assumed blood, and he took a quick intake of breath. Why was his wrist like that?

'ive been thinking the same thing!!! what if hes been kidnapped?!?!'

Kidnapped? Mark knit his eyebrows at that, shaking his head. No way.

'what if he's being forced to make videos. that could be why he's like this'

'+shadow_chick or he's just sick. quit making deranged bullshit'

He really, really wanted to comment on this. His fingers were itching in anticipation, as he took a few deep breaths, before scrolling past this section and looking at the other comments.

Apparently, everyone and their damned mother had started to make the same hypothesis.

'Jack! If you need help, put a green heart in your instagram bio.'

'Like this comment if you're in trouble!'

'You all are seeking attention , jesus fuck.' 

'It's another Marina Joyce lol'

He shook his head, closing his eyes. If Jack weren't being hurt or anything, then this would probably be the most stupid thing he'll read today. A smile crept towards his face, as he imagined his friend's horrified and worried expression, as he would try and reassure everybody that he's fine, and thank them for worrying. Jack would probably go online, look at his videos, and say 'what the fuck' in alarm. The thought of that made him snort, and he continued scrolling--before coming across someone familiar.

TheRPGMinx  
'Jack and I suddenly lost contact about a year ago. We used to talk everyday, too. I think something's up.'

Mark felt a tug in his gut, and he bit his lip, staring at that comment for a long time before clicking on her comment, and typing his reply.

'I was skyping him a year ago. He fell down the stairs while I was talking to him, he hung up and we haven't talked since?' He hesitated, but didn't send it, quickly erasing his comment and writing a 'same here' instead before sending it. He set his phone down, shifting in his bed and petting Chica's head as she was curled up to his stomach. Her tongue was flopped out and hanging from her jaw, a snore sounding from the golden retriever. He scratched her stomach, and she shifted slightly to roll onto her back, snorting when she was comfortable.

"Hey Mark?" Came a yell from the hallway, and both Chica and Mark looked up towards the doorway.

"Yeah?" He yelled back, resting more comfortably against his mattress.

"When are you flying out tomorrow, again?" Tyler yelled.

Mark froze where he lay for a moment, before sighing and getting to his feet. His flannel was all wrinkled, and covered in dog hair, so he grabbed a lint roller before heading out into the hallway. Tyler stood, scratching a very happy Chica while holding a bag of subway. "Six am." Mark replied, holding out his hand as Tyler tossed him a sandwich, which Mark caught easily. "I'll probably get there in a day after, though, fucking ten hour flight." He grumbled, scratching the hairs growing on his chin as he yawned. Tyler paused, as if wanting to say more, but decided on leaning against the wall and folding his arms. He gave Mark his signature look, which Mark scowled in reply.

"What?"

"Nothing." Tyler replied, shrugging his shoulders and bending down to scratch Chica when she nudged his leg. Mark sighed, rubbing his hands over his eyes as he felt a pang of irritation at his best friend. 

"Tyler, I've known you long enough to know what type of look that is. You're giving me an, 'Are you serious' type of look. What's up?" Mark asked, staring down his friend for an answer.

"Do you know what you're getting yourself into, Mark?" Tyler asked, raising an eyebrow at the smaller man (ha). Mark was about to reply, when Tyler kept speaking. "I mean, its a different country entirely. You said you're staying for a week right? What if Jack's busy? You could be invading his privacy?"

Mark was about to retaliate, but Tyler did have a point. His jaw fixed shut, as he, too, leaned against the wall and thought for a moment. He tossed the lint roller and sandwich onto the table, causing Chica to look up and go sniff it. "Well. It's not like I'm actually going to be at his house the entire time. I'm planning on going to Dublin for a bit, heard it's nice. I could just tell him that I was already planning the trip and happened to be close?"....That sounded so much better in his head. Mark groaned. "I mean, I wouldn't LIE to him." Because what he suggested was a complete lie. He was actually worried sick about his friend, Jack was the priority of the trip.

"So it's a vacation?" Tyler asked, brown eyes narrowing. That caused Mark's head to snap up, before grunting and looking away. 

"You know that isn't it, Ty.." He sighed, before walking down the hallway towards their work room, and flopping onto the couch. Tyler was practically hot on his heels, setting his bag down onto the counter in the kitchen before coming over. Mark ignored his stare. "I'm worried sick."

"Then call him."

"You know I can't, he hasn't picked up."

"Text him you're coming!"

"As if he'll see it."

"Then why are you trying?" Mark looked up at this. "If he's not replying, have you ever thought he doesn't want to see you, or anybody else right now?" 

"That's not it." Mark snapped, meeting Tyler's heated stare. What he had said jabbed him in the heart, but he quickly shook it off. "You haven't been in contact with him, every day, before having him suddenly stop replying all together. Whatever this is, isn't just him having a temper tantrum about 'not wanting to see anyone'." Mark scolded, sitting up more in his seat. "Jesus, Tyler, why are you acting so fed up all of a sudden."

"Because I can't take this, Mark. Have you even seen yourself? We're all worried about you!" Tyler snapped, moving to stand in front of him. "For the past year, you've been so preoccupied with Jack's channel, claiming there's something wrong!" He waved his arms to exaggerate his point. "You're indulged in this fantasy that somehow, Jack needs saving, that you're spending all you're time checking in on him...Amy's worried, man, and so am I. And now? Fuck, man, you're going over to Ireland JUST for him." Mark felt himself seething. "You're obsessed! What happens when Jack's perfectly okay, after all of this."

"If he's okay, I'm coming right back home and everything will turn back to normal." Mark snapped, getting to his feet as blood rushed to his head. "If he's okay, I wont be so 'obsessed' over him. But right fucking now, Tyler, I'm fucking worried for him. Have you seen the fucking comments on his videos lately?" He demanded, and Tyler scoffed.

"Don't tell me you believe that bullshit. What the hell, Mark, this isn't some case of kidnapping. Jack's fine! How can you believe something like that?"

"Jesus, I don't know, okay?! I don't know!" Mark finally yelled, during which Ethan had stumbled out of his room and stood in the hallway. "I don't know what to fucking believe cause I'm worried sick. What if all of what they say is true, have you ever thought of that?" He growled. "And you know what? I'd do the same damn thing if it happened to you, or Amy, or Ethan. This isn't me just picking fucking favorites, Tyler!" Ethan managed to slip past them and into the kitchen. "I'm going, that's that. I've let you know five months beforehand, so we could work around the schedule. There's literally nothing wrong with it." With that, he lowered his tone, sighing and rubbing his eyes. 

"You shouldn't believe what they're commenting."

"Tell me something to believe then." Mark looked up at Tyler, who stiffened at his words. "Tell me, its all okay. Tell me why THIS..." He brought out his phone, clicking it on, and holding up where the video was paused--showing Jack's wrist. "..Is okay." He sighed. "Tell me, why he flinches horribly whenever there's loud noises in a game. Answer me." All fight had left Mark, as he looked up at his friend. "Why is there a sudden shift in his behavior?"

Tyler was silent. 

Silence filtered the room, and after a long moment, Mark nodded. "Okay." He said, and with that, he got to his feet. Tyler went to say something, but stopped himself when Mark walked past him. "Mark, wait..." Ethan called out, leaving the kitchen and running after the obviously agitated man--who slammed his door in his face.

Ethan stood in the hallway for a moment, and Mark noticed his footsteps linger for a moment, before storming down the hallway. He could hear Ethan start yelling at Tyler, which Mark noticed had become more frequent, Ethan practically babying that stupid....He didn't finish his sentence. His eyes narrowed, as he leaned against his door, staring out the window a moment before walking to his bed and sitting down. Outside, the yelling stopped when the front door slammed shut, and Mark saw the figure of Tyler storming out of the house and into the night. He looked away from the window, eyebrows knitting as he stared at his floor.

Inside, the usual messy room was practically spotless. The clothes that usually covered the floor, had been put through the wash, and the remaining were in two backpacks in the corner of the room. Earlier that day, Mark had done some 'winter cleaning', also known as cleaning the house before he had left. Even the blinds were open, and the orange light outside filtered into the room, basking Mark in an orange glow as sat on his bed and rested his elbows on his knees. Ethan had opened the door and was hesitating at the doorway, and Mark looked up at him, not saying anything as Ethan crept over slowly and plopped down next to him.

He rested a hand on Mark's shoulder. "Hey.." Ethan swallowed thickly at the tensed silence. "Tyler's just worried, you know that.." His voice was barely above a soft murmur, as if he were choosing his words carefully in an attempt to comfort Mark. Mark took a deep breath, breathing in through his nose and out from his mouth. "We all are...you know? Worried about Jack." At this, Mark slowly looked over at Ethan, who shifted under his intense gaze. "Tyler...handles it differently. He doesn't want to think something's wrong, so he doesn't want anyone else to think anythings wrong, either." 

"I know." Mark murmured. He knew Tyler long enough to realize his thought patterns. "It's just...frustrating." He growled out, rubbing his eyes to fight off his tiredness. 

"It's the stress." Ethan patted his arm. "Everyone knows you're leaving tomorrow, but that doesn't stop the stress that builds up to it. I think you, and Tyler, need a little break from it all. He's seeing his best friend tear himself apart with worry, and it's scaring him." He removed his hand from Mark's shoulder, resting it on his lap. "So...I think it's a good thing, you know? It's giving you two breathing room, and not to mention..." His expression faltered to more seriousness. "You're going to be confirming what everyone's fearing, when you're over. I agree with you on what you're thinking. You're doing the right thing." 

Mark felt a tired smile creep to his lips, and he nudged the petite man with his elbow. "Thanks, Ethan. But it's getting late." He nodded towards the clock, and Ethan turned, with a nod.

"Yeah, you guys woke me up. Surprised I'm not cranky (ha) as fuck." Ethan got to his feet. "I'll be driving you tomorrow, so wake up at four so you can eat." Mark rolled his eyes, tossing his pillow at him.

"Okay, mother." Mark grinned as Ethan turned and chucked the pillow at Marks head. Mark guffawed, falling backwards and holding the pillow in his hand, but before he could retaliate, the Blue haired boy was gone. "That's what I thought!" He called once the door shut, before placing the pillow down behind his head as he lay down.

He didn't even feel sleepy. Fuck, he was screwed tomorrow...Hey, at least he could sleep on that plane. The thought of staying in one for ten hours, though, made him groan and grab his phone. He checked for notifications, before opening the Youtube app.

He scrolled through the comments one more time, noticing that Jack had, in fact, responded, though not verbally. He had liked Ayumix's comment, which made it go straight to the top of the comments section, where it now sported 249 likes and 124 comments. He shook his head, closing his eyes as he felt dread sit on his shoulders. That was as big of a confirmation as it could get.

He grumbled, flipping to his instagram page, as if trying to rid his thoughts on the subject. He glanced up at the orange lighting, before turning on the camera, holding out his arm as he did a quick selfie with a tired smile. 

'Ready for my flight. Ten hours, ugh.' With a coffee emoji and Irish flag next to it. The first comment was: 'SEPTIPLIER AWAY!!!!', which got him to chuckle, though pale when another one tagged Jack. He wanted to comment, that he wouldn't see this, since he hadn't even replied to his messages, though stopped himself enough to check when he last had activity on Instagram.

Jack's profile loaded, revealing the last picture being a month ago, but his eye slowly trailed up to his Bio.

A single, green heart was in his bio, next to the link to his youtube channel.

\----  
Present Day  
\----

"Foods ready!" Ethan yelled from the kitchen, loud enough to draw Mark's attention from his room. He had drawn the curtains due to the light outside his room keeping him awake, and the clothes he wore last night was on the floor of the closet. He currently had on a nice jacket, with jeans and whatnot, with one bag slung over his shoulder and the other on the desk next to him. He checked himself in his mirror, combing his hair back, a bit, before grabbing his other bag and turning off the light in his room. 

Chica was currently on Ethan's heels as he ran around the kitchen, grabbing some plates as the delicious smell caused Mark to quicken his pace. Ethan looked up, giving him a smile as he scraped the breakfast onto the plate. It was a mix of some peppers, bacon, and sausage grilled together, and on the side was some eggs and jesus, Mark had completely forgotten Ethan knew a thing or two about cooking.

"Eat up, big oaf." Ethan handed the plate to him, in which Mark took gratefully with a thanks. 

It didn't stand a chance against Mark, and by the time he was finishing up the food, he finally noticed what had been sitting to the side of him on the counter. As he chewed the last few bits, he grabbed the note that was on top of one of those...he forgot what they were called, damn it. It was one of those pillows, that went around the neck to help you sleep while sitting up. 

'Good luck sleeping. -Tyler'. He paused chewing, swallowing thickly, as he felt a smile slowly form on his face. He placed the note in his pocket, and stood up after he placed the pillow into his bag. Ethan had quickly scarfed down is food, and took Mark's empty plate and ran them in the sink. He then took out an extra plate and filled it with food, before jogging over to Tyler's room--and Mark was about to grab food for Amy, before remembering, that his girlfriend was at her parent's at the moment. Guilt overrode him for a moment, but he quickly shook it off as Ethan came back from Tyler's room.

"Alright. Got everything?" Ethan checked with Mark, searching around the house for his keys. "Laptop?" Check. "Charger?" Check. "Toothbrush?" Check. "Deodorant?" Shit. He checked anyways, though secretly slipped back into his room to slip it into his current bag. "Clothes?" Ethan called. Check, two bags worth of it anyways. No way in hell he was going to pay for bringing a luggage item, when he could bring something on board with him for cheaper. "Okay, okay. Money?" Mark came back into the room, flashing Ethan his credit card. "Entertainment?" His phone. "Okay, good....passport?" Mark ruffled through his bag as both of them left the house--after Mark spent a long moment saying bye to Chica--, and entered Ethan's car. Once sitting, Mark flashed his passport, similar to how someone would flash their police badge.

"Cool. We're off."

-

The airport was bustling with energy, despite the fact that it was still dark outside. Mark figured it must be because the holidays had finally passed, and now people were going home to their families, and soon enough he finally found a place to sit in his terminal while he waited for boarding time. They had made it a good thirty minutes in, thankfully, despite Ethan stopping them at a busy starbucks (he had to throw out the coffee he got, because no liquid through security, damnit), and the bustling line at the security check made him think that he might miss it.

Mark, Mr. Idiot moron, had gotten caught in security check, because he forgot to take his watch off, but other than that he was there safe and sound, both bags checked in and a fully charged phone. His knee was bouncing energetically, despite the fact that is was half past five, and when his boarding section was called, he jumped to his feet and practically hurried over to the line to board onto the plane.

And, fuck, he was in the middle. He found himself pausing in the isle after setting his bag into the compartment above, before sitting down in his spot to let people pass through. The plane was practically overflowing with people, and soon enough a pretty lady with a thick irish accent came over. She sat next to Mark, before leaning to him. "Ah, excuse me, do you wanna switch spots? I have window seat, but I'm horrible with heights." The lady asked, and Mark, relieved, nodded his head, claiming the window seat for his own as he leaned comfortably against the window, which gave a perfect view to the night sky. "I'm so relieved I caught this flight. Next one woulda been at half ten." 

"Half ten?" Mark clarified, and she quickly waved her hand.

"Ten thirty, tis an Irish thing." She winked, before grabbing a book from her bag once the plane engine started up. He watched with half interest as the flight attendants walked down the isle. The man in their section was brief, though joking about it, making extreme facial expressions and dramatic motions whenever the flight attendant in the back announced the risks and precautions of flying.

'In case of a crash, there are two exits in the front, middle, and back of the plane', in which the man grabbed his face in a horrified expression and pointed to each exit. Mark couldn't find himself laughing along at his dramatics, though, as he sluggishly turned his laptop off and set his phone into airplane mode.

Jesus, this was going to be a long ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also. I'm writing another Septiplier story. Be sure to look out for another work under my name. Other than that, goodnight :0


	4. Startled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why is Ireland so cold?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I have to apologize to everyone! I've been caught up in my other story, [Mischief](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9111904). You can go and check it out, I try my best not to disappoint!
> 
> Other than that, I've been pretty sick. But I bring great news! I'm heading back home tomorrow! I will be in Sacanime. Who knows, one of you might see me, lmao. //cue cockiness// 
> 
> Another great thing, is that someone actually drew FANART of my story. I actually cried, seriously, I don't think you know how happy I got when i saw it!!
> 
> You can check out their art [here](http://kenpai-notice-me.tumblr.com/image/155265116167)

First thing's first.

Ireland is NOT a big country, and Mark had learned that once flying over Dublin.

Dublin, in and of itself, wasn't that big either. The city he left from, LA, had about three times more people than the entire Capital of Ireland. And LA wasn't even the capital of the United States of America...so truthfully, he felt a small part of himself be disappointed that the realization. Truthfully? He hadn't taken it upon himself to look up any information about the country--other than their currency, which was Euros, which _pissed_ Mark off, because one euro was four cents more than an average US dollar. It just irked him at the small difference, and during the entire plane ride, he forced himself not to think too hard about that...

Speaking of plane rides, Mark slept through the whole thing. He had stayed up all late night to be on youtube, and forced a distraction upon himself in order to stay awake the entire night. He had woken up on the plane as the receptionist had announced that they would be descending, wiping drool off of his chin and peering out the window--only to come face to face with the entire island.

Oh, fun fact, Ireland is an Island.

He didn't know until he actually looked it up when deciding to leave for the trip. But for some ungodly reason, the thought of it being an island caused him to snicker, and the Lady next to him sent him an odd look--which he quickly ignored, mind you--before returning to her third book. 

Maybe it was because, he was outside of the U.S? Or perhaps, it was because it just wasn't connected to any other place? It made his entire country look so large, and he thought that leaving for another state would be a big trip with a completely different setting on the world--nope. Fuckin Ireland.

And after a struggle to get his bad, and confusion in trying to _find_ the rental car place--much less, rent one out-- Mark was finally on the road, at one pm late at night in the new country he was in. It blew over his head at the fact that this place was eight hours ahead, so back home, it would be around Six. He felt his knee bounce as he glanced into the review mirror--having to pay EXTRA attention to the road signs--, and felt her nerves ease when the airport finally went out of view, and he was met with a nice looking freeway surrounded by a bunch of lush, green fields. Then, after a few miles, he came upon the Dublin itself--and wow.

It was pretty at night.

Mark found himself almost in a trance, before his attention snapped back into place when a car honked behind him. He startled, picking up his speed as he took the next exit, heading right into the city. He was pleased to find out that there was a Holiday Inn, and while he suddenly came in in a short notice, he was booked into the room for the night.

He kicked off his shoes, and barely made it three feet before crashing onto the bed and clonking out for the night.  
\-----

Jesus, there was so much snow.

He was currently an hour from Dublin, bags sitting in shotgun, all hotel costs paid, and leftover breakfast from this morning on the dashboard. His Radio was blasting obnoxiously, and if any other car were around, he knew it would piss them off.

_If_ any car were around.

Despite it only being an hour away from Dublin, Mark had found himself surrounded by lush plows of land, driving down a road that desperately needed to be repaved, and no sight of any civilization nearby. Due to this, he had to wait ages until he got even a signal, and write down directions for his GPS, because oh god he was NOT going to get lost again. And now? He was pretty sure he was lost. It had said that in a quarter mile, turn right, which he had. And now? He had no more directions to lead off of, the turn he had taken having been the last, and he was stuck driving down the path until, dear god, he found something...

And something, he did.

Carlin wasn't that big, more of a decent sized down--and not your stereotypical farming town, just average. The population was probably a thousand, mainly residential due to how far off it was from any main roads. There was one main street, filled with restaurants and shops, and from there it slowly branched off into smaller streets of different businesses. His eyes, however, didn't focus on that, is brown eyes met a startling, icy blue of the lake off to his right. Due to the heavy snowfall recently (he had to stop to get chains for his car tires), the lake was frozen solid, and true to Jack's word a year back, couples were already on the ice, skating away.

...Jack.

His eyes snapped forward, feeling whatever awe he felt previously die in his throat. 

First? Food. He'd check in once his stomach stopped eating itself alive.

He managed to find a parking spot on the side of the road, huffing to himself as he put his bags into the back seat of the car before locking it once outside. He shrugged his jacket as a cold breeze suddenly brushed against his body, causing a shiver to run through his body as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. He muttered a swear under his breath, clamping his jaw shut as he booked it to the first restaurant that his eyes landed on.

The second he stepped into the restaurant, his stomach growled profusely, causing him to hesitate a moment in embarrassment before starting forward towards the front of the register. His eyes took in the place--it was small, busy Italian Restaurant, the tables within the area all filled with elderly couples and some families having a pleasant lunch. His eyes scanned the time, as he surprised himself at the fact that he had made it by noon, but before he could dwell more on the subject, a voice brought him back to reality.

"Uh....sir?"

Atmosphere. Broken.

Mark looked over at a man, around his age, standing behind the register with a more confused expression than any. His dark hair was disheveled on his head, brown eyes meeting Mark's as they studied him for a moment, before Mark cleared his throat.

"Ah, uh, sorry." After a quick clear of his throat, he stepped forward, thankful for the fact that blushing usually didn't show up that well onto his face. 

The cashier nodded his head, before looking behind him as if to see if nobody were with him. "Table for one?" He asked, and Mark nodded his head, and in an uncomfortable silence, made his way towards his seat. Mark sat down, grunting slightly as he did so, and the man hesitated a moment before pulling out a clip-board before looking up. "Drinks?"

"Coffee and I'm sold." Mark replied, as he forced himself to relax his shoulders. The man smiled, before jotting it down.

"Be back in a sec." The man said, before walking off to get his drink brewed. This left Mark in a moment of silence, as he pretended he didn't see a few people looking at him. They probably could tell he was an outsider, especially because of his hair, he decided once he ran a hand through the mess. He hadn't bothered to clean himself up before leaving the car, so he quickly fixed the mess as he leaned back into his chair. His eyes traveled the walls of the restaurant, eyeing the warm, orange light hanging above him, and looking at the pattern on the seats to determine where it begins and ends again. On the walls were old paintings, Italian paintings mind you, with a soft music playing in the background that really does make it seem like he wasn't on an Island called Ireland.

"Your coffee, sir, here's some creamer." 

Nevermind. That accent reminded him completely.

Mark startled out of his trance, looking up right as a coffee mug was placed in front of him, and shit, he forgot to look at the menu. His waiter seemed to realize this too, as a small grin came onto his face, and before Mark could process what was going on, he sat down on the opposite side of Mark and leaned onto the table with his elbows.

"So, what brought ya ta Ireland?" The man--Mason, his name tag implied-- asked. His eyes shined with interest, though for some reason, Mark got a strange feeling pool through his gut and twist it--like a knife in a wound--and made him blink for a moment before answering.

"Uh...what?" Smart.

"Well, ye obviously aren't from around here." Mason said, gesturing to the window to Mark's left. Mark's eyes followed his hand outside, where a couple walked by and a car passed, before looking back at Mason with a frown. 

"I....ah...came here for sightseeing. Heard there was a lake, lots of people skate here." He lied through his teeth, hand clenching at his side out of reflex. Thankfully, though, Mason nodded his head with another grin, leaning back as if he heard all of what Mark had to say. Mark chewed the inside of his cheek, before flipping open the menu, looking through it for a moment.

"Yeah, its grand here, aint it? We're close to a nice foresty area that a lotta people go hiking in, sadly we don't have a beach though, I woulda loved to pick shells or somethin'." He accent was definitely thicker than a certain Irish man Mark knew. "Oh, hey! You know what's good on the menu?" He asked, nodding his head towards the paper Mark held up. Slowly, Mark lowered it on the table, and Mason pointed to a certain dish.

"Our spaghetti is the shite." He said proudly, and Mark held back a guffaw at how forward this guy was. Wouldn't he get fired for swearing, or talking to a customer so casually? But without having to look around, he could tell this obviously wasn't a rare occurrence for this man, so even though loads of people heard him, they just didn't react. "We lay back on the meatballs. Soak the noodles in a nice garlic base when cooking 'em, set the sauce on a low heat and let it simmer for a bit, add loads of paprika and some peppers, some thyme and junk, real good. Our chef's the best, sometimes he lets me cook, though it tastes like crap." He did a thumbs down at the last sentence.

Mark couldn't keep up with this dude, he was worse than Jack, jesus. 

"If you want, we sometimes cook it with some wine, gives it a nice touch around the edges. Though that's just my suggestion, mate." Mason caught himself, waving his hand as he clarified, and Mark slowly nodded his head with scrunched eyebrows.

"Actually, I'll have that--just hold back on cooking with alcohol." Mark said, and Mason brought out his clip-board and began writing it down. Mark paused a moment, before looking at the menu. "And, can I have some breadsticks for an appetizer?" He added, and Mason grinned as if he made the right choice, as he took Mark's menu as he went to go give the order to the Chef or whoever.

There was a moment of relaxed silence, and he found himself leaning back into his seat as he took in a faint scene of tomato paste and garlic, before he heard a sound of cushions releasing built-up air under weight. Mason was back, grinning at him.

"So, tell me about yourself. Not often we get visitors, believe it or not." He grinned, before pausing and extending his hand. "Name's Mason, by the way. Mason Freeman--and yes, I'm free, only to cute customers." He winked at Mark at the last sentence, and Mark found himself chuckling light-heartedly, deciding to waste some time talking at least. What's the harm? He gripped the other man's hand.

"Mark Fischbach. Weird last name, I ain't part fish." Mark countered, and Mason froze, his demeanor suddenly shifting. Mark wasn't able to tell what emotion played on his face, however, as it only lasted a millisecond before Mason let go and brought his hands to the table.

" _You're_ Mark Fischbach?" Mason demanded, as if Mark were lying, or that somehow this was insane news. Mark found himself leaning back in alarm at the sudden outburst. "Oh MAN! You're that guy! You know, the...the...person with a face of a baby and a body of a man!" Mason snapped his fingers. 

Okay. This guy was nuts. Obviously confusion played on Mark's face, as Mason seemed to calm down enough to clarify on it. "Sean's told me about you! He described you as that before. Said it was something your fans called you...? Oh man, fans, am I talking to a celebrity? Hope I didn't embarrass myself that much!" Mason patted down on his shirt, as if to make himself presentable, and Mark took that moment to reach out a bit.

"Calm down, I'm not that big of a deal. You told me Sean talked about me, right?" He still wasn't used to calling Jack 'Sean', so it felt weird passing through his lips. "How is he? Haven't talked to him in a while." A while was an understatement.

Mason's expression shifted again, and it was like Mark got stabbed in the gut for a millisecond, an unfamiliar coolness settling into his gut as he sat up a little straighter and cracked his knuckles as they rested on his knees. Even though Mason's expression was back to normal, he could tell that something was up. "He's doin good, doesn't come back here often. Tastebuds must've changed, that bastard." Even though it was joking, he got the vague impression that there was something else in his last sentence. 

"Really?" Mark hummed, feeling through his pockets to grab his phone. He didn't pull it into view, though, resting it on his lap as he tilted his head at Mason. A smile graced his lips. "Glad he's okay, really. Last time I saw him was at PAX con. Ever been to America?" Mark prompted, and Mason frowned as if thinking hard on something.

"When I was smaller." He noted, before shrugging his shoulders. "Went to New York. Ma's half American, so her grandparents are out there. Dunno how they survive." Mark snorted that that, chuckling and shaking his head. Oh, he knew about New York, had some bad experiences there. After a moment of relaxed silence, Mason got up. "I'll check if your foods ready." He called over his shoulder as he walked away, and Mark immediately brought his phone up from under the table.

'What's your address?' The message sent with a bing, and Mark turned the screen off and put it back into his pocket, chewing his lip. Before long, Mason came back with a basket of breadsticks and a steaming plate of spaghetti.

Another thing about Ireland. Their serving sizes were small. Well...more like American serving sizes were massive. Mark felt himself almost get disappointed, though also relieved, since it would be easier for the diet he was currently attempting. As Mason sat down again, he plucked one of the breadsticks and took a bite out of it, and Mark didn't complain about it.

"Tell me about yourself." Mark offered, figuring it would be easy to let the guy talk while he ate. Mason paused at his question, swallowing the breadstick peace before leaning back. 

"Ohhh, did we upgrade to a date?" He joked, and Mark found himself grinning with a roll of his eyes. He took a nice bite out of his spaghetti, before Mason leaned forward. "Was born and raised in Dublin. Nice city, but theres a surprised amount of gang violence there. Don't really remember their names, since I moved out here when I was ten." He shrugged his shoulders casually. "Studied business management in College when the time came around. Went back to Dublin for that part. Came back here once I graduated and--hey! None of it came into play. I get paid above average wage, My boss is super cool, and I have a nice house all to myself." He held up his arms, grinning. Mark nodded along, though it was more half hearted. 

"I have a cute little dog, too, named Sally. She's a sweetheart. Here--" Mason patted his pants pocket, then frowned. He patted front, back, then shirt pockets, before sighing and getting to his feet. "Hmm." Mason left the table for a moment, jogging towards the cash register, and Mark found himself looking over his shoulder in slight confusion as he slowly shoved a breadstick into his mouth. 

Mason walked back, noticing Mark was practically done. "Jesus, dude, you American's eat a lot--Not in a bad way!" He held up his hands when Mark narrowed his eyes. "Hey, here's your reciept. My shift actually ends at one, so I'm gonna grab my phone. Hope you stop by again! Another waiter will take your check!" Wait, was that even professional to do? Mark found himself nodding along as Mason left the restaurant it a hurry, knitting his eyebrow...

Well. That man was certainly a handful. He actually felt kinda dazed from the encounter. He was left in a long moment of silence, feeling the familiar coolness in his gut as, for some ungodly reason, he felt as though his skin were crawling like bugs were underneath it. Were there bugs there? He gunted slightly, and he shook his head from his thoughts, feeling his phone buzz, but he ignored it as another pretty lady came by. He smiled up at her, handing the check with his debt card tucked in the side, and the lady hurried off to go behind the register. His phone buzzed again, and again he ignored it, humming along as the lady came back and set him on his way.

It was only once he was outside, that his phone buzzed again, and Mark took it out with a huff as he checked his notifications.

Ten from Ethan. Two from Tyler.

Tyler:  
'Mark, check Jack's youtube.'  
'You want to see this so hurry the fuck up!!!'

Ethan: Mark!  
Mark check your youtube  
im fucking shaking  
mark you're there right  
mark are you in carlin  
please pick up  
look at your fucking phone  
its important  
mark  
MARK

And under all that, was a livestream, from none other than Jacksepticeye.  
\-----

 

'1143 Crawlridge Dr.'

He did it. He had it set up.

Before you do a lifestream, you are able to put a description in your videos, and add a name and a thumbnail. He didn't have time for any of that stuff. He couldn't even think on any of that stuff, as he felt like he wanted to cry whether from a good or bad feeling, Jack didn't yet know. His vision blurred painfully, as he resisted laying his head down on the desk, cause right now, he was scared that if he slept, something bad would happen.

His entire existence felt horrible, and he wanted to throw up on the spot. But he couldn't. He wanted to start the livestream, but he was so scared, scared to the point that he wanted to vomit, but he had to. He had to! It was too late, the person could easily track where his url went, the person would know what he had tried if he had stopped at this point. He fumbled slightly, weakly bringing an arm up and--oh god. He never knew how hard it was to do a simple action like that. His arm shook horribly, as he gripped around the frame, clicking it on and--his face came onto screen.

Holy shit.

He didn't recognize himself. It was so cliche, but it was the truth, as he felt himself disassociating as he stared at the person on screen.

His hair was sticking to his face, but in the dark lighting, you couldn't see the vomit. The lighting from the screen was the only thing illuminating his face in the dark room--which was brightly, considering Jack didn't turn the brightness down yet. His face was gaunt, and pale, and his eye sockets were visible against his clammy face. Sweat--something, he didn't do often--was beading to his forehead and sticking to his body, soaking through his shirt and highlighting his face and neck. His cheeks, despite how horrible pale the rest of him was currently, was flushed a pink that went all across his nose to his ears. The bruise on his face was highly contrasted against the skin, shining darkly and causing let eye to squint more than his right. 

He was panting, chest heaving with each intake of breath, as he watched a bead of sweat roll down the side of his face as he shuddered, drawing himself closer into his own body as if to get warm. His body ached, his leg throbbed, he tasted sickness at the back of his throat, and he wanted out. He was taking a shot in the dark, hoping that someone would be able to get to him in time, maybe even someone from his city if he were lucky. Part of him debated if he should call the police, and yet...

Evidence.

The logical side screamed at him to livestream, to prove everything, to be able to lock his captor up for good, but his hand rested on the mouse unmoving. His body shuddered again, and he felt anxiety slowly seep into his core--something he hadn't felt since the past year. He went to swallow thickly, though winced as he couldn't finish the action, his realizing his throat was swelled and gave a sharp stab of pain at the action. He coughed, feeling the mucus in the back of his throat shift, and he felt a wave of nausea come up when he even thought about it.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. He forced air into his lungs, squeezing his eyes shut as his vision tripled to the point he couldn't see the screen, and he forced his finger to press down, to click on the mouse, which was over the livestream button, and in a gut-wrenching moment, it started.

He was live.

He almost cried. No, not almost, he _was_ crying at this point, feeling his body shutter as he threw whatever pride he had out the window. The reaction was instant, as people immediately clicked on the link, both in surprise and in confusion he guessed, but he didn't care. He didn't care, and it scared him that he didn't. He breathed in, about to say something, but his throat clenched horribly as he went into a coughing fit off the bat, feeling his breath wheeze out of him as he couldn't force himself to look at the camera.

His eyes darted to the door, almost expecting his attacker to barrel through the door off the bat, before darting back and attempting to speak again.

"I..." His throat caught, and he swallowed, wincing as his throat blocked itself off, and he knew he didn't even sound the same. He took a deep breath, feeling tears roll down his cheeks. Throw pride out the window, asshole. Any or all dignity left, toss it. You're exposed and out in the open. You... "1143 Crawlridge Dr, Carlin, North Ireland." He spoke in a shaky voice, barely audible due to the heavy strain he used in order to actually _speak_ at this point. He took a deep breath, voice breaking horribly as he repeated that.

"Sean Mcloughin. 27. Shit...shit...Send someone. Please, I can't." His voice caught so badly, he wondered if anyone could even hear him. "they'll be back...they might come back...I don't..." He choked in his words. "Don't want to die...i'm sorry, I'm so sorry everyone, I'm sorry.." He couldn't stop the tears, and no matter how much he rubbed them away, he couldn't shake off his blurry vision, or his lightheadedness.

"I've been lying...I can't go back at this point. They'll get a notification.." Speaking seemed to help his voice a bit, as it became easier to hear, as he coughed again into his elbow. He kept it low, though. Who knew how much it traveled in his house? He never cared before. Another thick swallow, another unusual bead of sweat rolling down his face, and Jack's eyes traveled to the comments. His vision swam, and he could hardly read them as they swarmed by so fast, so he took a deep breath and scrolled up a bit to see peer at some of the comments.

"I don't know who they are." He spoke slowly, feeling himself shake. He heard the door slam downstairs, and his eyes widened. In alarm, he quickly turned off the screen, hoping to fucking god that, maybe, just maybe, help was coming, that it was the police, that he would get help... he heard the footsteps stomping up the stairs, and he felt it. He felt that in his gut, it wasn't the police, and in a quick strain, he threw himself onto the ground, doing his best to land on his good leg, and the second he was on the ground away from his computer, the door slammed open.

"What the FUCK did you do!?" The voice rang in Sean's ears, echoing and throbbing horribly. Converse stomped over, before a swift kick was sent to his side, causing him to grunt out in pain.

"Did you contact someone, you little shit! You think calling your friend from America will fucking help you!" Jack felt his entire being freeze at those words, as blue eyes flickered towards his phone. The text message...was Mark...? "You DID contact someone. Fuck! Do you know the position you put me in, you little fuck! He could be onto me, fuck...fuck!" Jack could recognize...desperation in the man's voice. Jack felt the blood roaring in his ears, and he could hear his heartbeat, an erratic thumping mixed with shaky breathing as the person leaned down, grabbing Jack by the shirt. He was hoisted to his feet, and he let out a cry of pain at his leg came into contact with the floor, and before he knew it, a blade was at his throat.

"I should fucking kill you. I should! I...hhaha, didn't know you had the fucking guts!"

"N-no!" Jack felt an unnatural chill across his body at those words, terror gripping his heart in an icy clasp, threatening to rip it out of his body, He couldn't breathe. "I-I didn't! I didn't tell anyone! P-please, don--"

"Don't talk back! You fuck!" With that, Jack was thrown--right into his bookshelf. He saw the camera shake slightly from the impact, nearly falling, and all the air left Jack's lungs in one swift moment as he slid down.

And in a horrifying moment, he couldn't breathe. He gasped, eyes wide as tears rushed to them, as he struggled to get air into his lungs as the person stormed over, slapping him hard across the face. He hissed out, tears leaking down his face as his body instantly reacted to fight back, lifting a hand to hit him back, but it felt like he was swimming through peanut butter. The person grabbed his hand, slamming it to the floor as he crouched. "You want me to break your arm, too! You fuck!" He roared, and Jack's eyes widened as he finally was able to get air in his lungs.

"No!" He cried out--it was more of a wail, as the person pressed down on his arm to the point it fucking hurt. He found himself screaming, lifting his legs up and trying to hit him with his other arm as he found himself struggling for the first time in _months_. "Let go! Please...please..." He panted, his lungs not feeling with the normal capacity of air as it hurt with every intake of breath, and his mind swarmed.

"Why?!" They roared, mask coming into Jack's face as his jaw was gripped aggressively.

"M-my phone!" He wheezed. "C-c-check my phone! I never messaged him back about Carlin. P-please!" He stuttered, wheezing horribly--and just like that, the weight on his arm lifted. He coughed, a horrible, sickened cough as he slowly turned over in a daze, as he heard footsteps retreat to his desk. He panted heavily, tears streaming down his face as he could do nothing but lay there, as he knew that his fate was in someone else's hands at this point. 

There was a silence that filled the room, as the person came into Jack's view, a deathly silent filling the room. "Your computer." 

No description could do justice to the sudden terror that filled Jack's entire body at this point. He watched, his heart leaping to his throat, as he walked his captor hurry to the computer. "You could have fucking messaged him through the computer, huh? You think you're that fucking smart?" They snarled, hurrying towards his computer. They bent down towards the camera, snarling as they hit the button to turn on the screen--

"No!!" Jack yelled, panic seeping into his voice as he felt the familiar feeling of being unable to breathe take over.

The screen flickered on, revealing it. Jack's secret. Jack's lifeline, fully exposed. The thing that, at this point, sealed Jack's fate, and he couldn't do anything but watch in horror as the person stiffened, staring at the screen in tense silence. Jack felt his body tremble, and he could see himself in the corner of the room, shaking horribly as he tried to curl himself up.

The lifestream was still going, even after his computer screen shut off.

There was a tense silence, and all Jack could hear was his heartbeat--something he knew, deep down, he wouldn't have in a few minutes. In a sudden realization of crushing horror, he knew what was going to happen. Jack was going to die. He was going to have that blade, plunged into his heart, left for authorities to find. He would have his name on newspapers, he would be given a burial, people would cry...but, what was worse? He let everyone down. He had started the livestream, filling himself, and his fans, with a hope that was too sweet to be true. He didn't want anyone to witness this. He didn't want to die, and have fucking children watch this during the lifestream, sobbing to their parents and attempting to call the police, but it would be too late. They would have to watch the video, because he knew, they wouldn't be able to look away, hoping that he would be able to somehow overcome this.

But he couldn't.

Slowly, steadily, his captor turned. 

In one swift motion, they flung themselves at Jack, who screamed until his throat felt raw as he attempted to scramble out of the way. Adrenaline coursed through his body, as he scrambled to get to his feet, before getting tackled down. His head hit the wall painfully, and Jack cried out as he was pinned roughly--and punched in the face. He gasped out, feeling tears well up, before the fist came back down. Again, and again, and again, and the pain got worse and worse and worse, and soon he couldn't feel the left side of his face as it swelled with bruises, and he couldn't stop screaming. He pleaded, begged, cried, struggled, but it was futile as the fist kept coming down in an animalistic manner, and Jack could taste blood as his vision swarm, and he didn't know how much he could take from the immense pain throbbing throughout his body.

Then it stopped.

Jack spat out the blood building up in his mouth, looking up with his good eye, as The Person took out their switchblade. Blue eyes widened, and he suddenly lashed his arm out, gripping the person's arm in a feeble attempt to stop him, but it was useless. His arm was forced down, and he felt himself screaming again, his worst fear finally coming into play. 

It was funny, how he would die from his worst fear--being stabbed. At least, it's not being stabbed while falling from a big height. Right? 

He watched as the person grabbed their mask, gripping it tightly as if debating on lifting it from his face, and watched as their shoulders shook, and oh god. Was he crying? Was he laughing? Was he going insane? Jack couldn't tell, he didn't want to know, all he did was push with all of his might as his captor looked down at him, blade in hand as he sat on Jack's chest to pin him down. Jack attempted to kick with his legs, wheezing horribly as every brain cell in his body screamed run, while the other merely accepted his fate.

This was it. This was how he would die.

Jack let out one last, ear piercing scream, watching in horror as the blade lifted above their head, unable to look away. He saw the blade shine against the screen, shadows casting creepily over the person's face, as he swiftly went to bring the blade down, and Jack felt himself start sobbing in fucking horror, feeling the fight finally leave him in split second action, felt everything in his body shut down in acceptance to his fate...

And then the door slammed open, and Jack's captor was roughly thrown off of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also removed some of the tags, because my opinion on where this was going completely changed.
> 
> I want to point out something. This is purely fiction. I have no intent of offending the people this fiction is about. I decided to write this because this is a very real possibility for some people you do look up to. I know someone, personally, who went through this, and Its my way of sort of spreading the word.
> 
> My old fandoms had people who weren't real, which makes this a completely different story altogether on do's and dont's. Before, you can intemperate them into how you want them to be and put them in situations, regardless of their preferences because hey, its fiction and they're not real. Now, however, you need to realize that there are things that do make people uncomfortable, and I respect that.
> 
> I'm not saying Jacksepticeye is going through this. And I won't make it extreme to the point that it will be uncomfortable, because he is a real, living person.
> 
> On that note, please remember that as you're writing. While this IS fiction, it can still get creepy since these are based off of real people. I'm not going to go out to every comment and say: writing that is bad! but remember these guys are actually here on earth, and some of the things this fandom writes is...borderline creepy?
> 
> I apologize again, since again, I didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable throughout this process. I came to this realization while going through Jack's tumblr, and he answered an ask along the lines of it.


	5. Results

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time slows, everything blurs. What day is it? Where am I? Those questions that once were easy to answer, became the hardest thing to comprehend. All he knew was that it hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! sorry about my inactivity. I've decided to post a rather short chapter, just following suit. (Mainly, I got frustrated with everything I've tried to write out after where it cuts off, so i just didn't write it for now.) 
> 
> I also wanted to try and portray shock in situation accurately. Due to an experience I've also had, i know for a fact it is NOT fun, but hard to describe what going into shock is like, and how long it lasts and how it messes with your mind. So, I hope I explained it partially well.
> 
> So, without further ado! Enjoy the Results!

When Jack saw Mark looming over him, he thought he was hallucinating.

The other man was breathing hard, as if he had sprinted all the way from America. His fists were clenched, his chest heaving as he could hear a slight wheeze with each breath. His eyes were glinting in the light of the computer screen, the livestream--what he began to call the 'lifestream', still recording in the background.

Jack couldn't bring himself to breathe, as everything processed in his head too slowly. Was he...dead? Or was this real? He couldn't bring air into his lungs, causing his face to grow warmer and warmer as Mark's gaze fell onto Jack, and he could see a look of horror wash over his face. His movements were so slow, though, and everything was hypersensitive, as his vision was turning darker and Mark's face seemed to contrast harshly against the light, and Jack's chest began to hurt, and at that moment he realized he needed to _breathe_.

He shuddered in a breath, before coughing in horribly, throat tightening as nails seemed to dig into his lungs. He gripped his chest, turning over as he hacked out his lungs, and he felt hands on his shoulders to lift him up, and he saw Mark's mouth moving out of the corner of his eyes but he just couldn't hear. He could only hear his own breathing, how he couldn't breathe into his full capacity, and how his lungs ached painfully with each breath, and he couldn't find himself being able to focus on anything but the pain that came from it.

Blue eyes trailed down to his chest, and he found no knife, nothing that could have caused this pain, and yet he couldn't function properly, as if there _were_ a knife there, and tears instantly brimmed his eyes again as he felt a fear of suffocation devour him. Mark's voice broke his trance, as his shoulders were roughly shaken.

"Jack…..jesus christ, oh my god--" His voice was muffled, as if he were underwater, completely submerged into a cold substance and Mark was above him, breathing in air as he drowned underneath. Jack's eyes focused on Mark, dazed as his mind, again, just couldn't process this scenario. His eyes then trailed over Mark's shoulder, and he spluttered, eyes widening as he weakly attempted to shove Mark away.

The man's head turned, and there was a yell, and Jack's world turned sideways as he was **roughly** thrown away from Mark, and it took him longer than it should’ve to notice that Mark had shoved him away. His stomach flopped horribly as he crashed his head against the dirty carpet, looking up as Mark fell against the wall, as his masked captor swung his arm towards Mark. Mark huffed, before ducking as a blade swept over his head and got lodged into the wall. Suddenly, his captor was falling backwards as Mark nailed the man in the gut, causing him to let go of the blade.

In that instant, Mark was between Jack and the captor, facing the man as he balanced himself again and yanked the knife from the wall. Jack attempted to lift himself, but his body wouldn't respond to his needs, instead he began to tremble horribly on the floor as his life was placed into yet another person's hands.

Mark's.

His captor screamed, swinging his blade wildly as he charged at Mark. Mark quickly side stepped, sweat falling from his face as he breathed heavily. Brown eyes met blue, as if Mark were thinking in the milliseconds on the deathly situation, and Jack wanted to scream at him

Run...Idiot! Get out of here!

He struggled to move his arms, but they were locked at his side, unable to move as all he could do was attempt to fill his lungs. His captor stumbled, before turning suddenly towards Mark.

"Fuck..fuck! You just HAD to interfere!!" The man yelled, clutching the mask tightly to his face for a moment. The man was between Jack and Mark, facing the red-haired man, as he looked as if he were losing it at this point. "Fuck it... fuck!" With that, the man lunged, and Jack kicked out his leg.

Converse hit his good leg, and the man was tumbling onto the floor, knife flying as the flat of the blade hit Mark in the chest--not impaling him, thank god. The knife clattered away, and his captor attempted to get to his feet, but suddenly Mark was on top of him, pinning him down onto his stomach. Hands clamped around the knife, and suddenly the man turned and sliced Mark across the face, and Jack screamed as Mark scrambled off of him with a yell as blood splattered onto the floor, and Jack felt nausea slowly build up.

The man turned to Jack, growling dangerously, and Jack scrambled to try and move away. His arms buckled dangerously, as he pushed himself off the ground to move, but fell with a thump and barely made it a foot away. He managed to move onto his back, using his elbows to push away, but the man advanced dangerously.

"You little bitch!" With that, the man crouched down, gripping Jack's good leg harshly and dragging Jack towards him. He was met with a scream, and a surprisingly agile slap to the face, and the man roared and rose the knife, and Jack found himself screaming with as much lung capacity as he could when he felt like he got punched.

No.

He got stabbed.

He just didn't process it immediately.

They say, when you are shot with a bullet, that you don't even realize what happens at first. You feel pressure, like you've been punched, and your body experiences shock at first--until you see the blood, and your body realized just what, exactly, happened.

Being stabbed is the same way. Jack saw it--saw the knife go into his abdomen, saw it enter his skin to the hilt, watched as the man pulled out and the skin of his stomach clung to the knife slightly with some resistance, and he felt nothing for the first few seconds before it practically exploded. The pain was so startling, so overwhelming that he was forced into shock. A sound that resembled an inhuman scream left his lips as his vision darkened considerably, and everything got blurry due to his tears, and he could hear a ringing in his ears that made them feel like he were bleeding, and he just couldn't. Oh God, oh God, it hurt!!!

He couldn't process it, as he brought a hand to his stomach, as his screaming was cut off by choking, and he wanted to scream out for Mark, for the Garda, for his fans--but no words came out of his mouth because he could only sit and gag as nausea welled up, and his cheeks were soaked at this point as his captor lifted the blade again. It all was in slow motion, as Jack rose a hand to defend himself as the knife, this time, aimed for his face-- and he saw the blade enter through his hand and stab it all the way through.

Jack hadn't realized he's been so air deprived until he forced air back into his lungs, and the knife was removed again, before plunging back into his hand--again, and again, and again--as if the man were trying to get the obstacle out of the way from his target. Jack struggled to move his body, but the pain from his abdomen was too much, and it prevented his movements from exceeding past violent twitching.

The knife was raised again, and Jack was horrified to see that he could, actually, see the person through a formed hole in his hand, and blood dripped from the wound and onto Jack's cheek, and the knife came down, again.

Except, he didn't feel the pressure in his hand anymore.

His arm dropped like dead weight when he saw a flurry of movements, his mind lagging behind to fully process it. It was almost as if he were watching a buffering video, the movements jaggy and skittish, as Mark's scream rang in Jack's ears, and Mark was in front of him, and he saw his captor flee the room, and he _cried._

His body practically shook from sobs, and he could feel hands on his shoulders, and the sound of sirens in the distance as Mark's voice echoed in his head--but he couldn't hear what he was saying. He could only hear the frequency of his voice, and feel a pressure on his stomach that made him cry out in pain. The wound in his stomach was burning, horribly, as it was now the only warm part of his body--like the warmth was seeping out of him and onto the cold floor. He could only see Mark's swimming outline through the array of tears and fleeing vision. He could only feel the warmth of Mark's hand on his shoulder, as the rest of his body was freezing cold. He could see Mark's mouth move, but he could not hear as Mark held him, begging him to stay with him, picking him up effortlessly.

_“Jack…...hospital…...hang….”_

He felt blood drip onto his jaw--Mark's blood, and suddenly that was the only thing his hazy eyes could focus on. There was a gash, going across Mark's face, from his cheek to the opposite eyebrow, and for some reason, Mark looked like he _wasn't_ in pain. For some reason, though? He wanted to laugh, thinking that to this day, _wow,_ Mark was the strongest person he knew, and here Jack was, crying like a baby as he felt a strange drowsiness tug at his body, and his head lolled onto Mark's chest as if his neck couldn't support himself anymore, and he felt his body go weightless as his eyes struggled to keep focus.

_“Drop!....stable…fuck…...bastard!”_

There was yelling, but it was muffled, and there was a bang as Mark started yelling in a panic, but Jack could no longer bring himself back into focus to reality.

His eyes closed, and all he could hear was the soft thumping of his failing heart.

\-----

The first time Mark saw Sean Mcloughin since visiting Ireland, he was mixed with shock and bristling anger.

The next time? He was filled with pure remorse, a feeling similar to tearing a heart apart with grief.

He had gotten a trip to the hospital via police car, due to the fact that they didn’t allow him onto the ambulance. Immediately upon receiving a check up at the hospital, he sat down in the waiting room, medical tape keeping his stitches in tact from the nasty gash across his face. It had taken an hour before it had stopped bleeding, and truthfully Mark was not feeling the greatest, but the entire process he found himself unable to care.

He didn’t care about the stitched up wound across his face, or the medical bills, or the nurse giving him a sideways glance every other minute. He didn’t care about how his phone must be blowing up, but he had dropped it and sprinted up towards Jack’s house.

No, his thought process always went back to Jack. About the critical condition he’s in, and the surgery he was currently undergoing, and the fear in his eyes when the knife came down...and… The look in Jack’s eyes, as if he accepted death in Mark’s arms, and yet was so scared but so unresponsive.

He had heard the paramedics as they loaded him in, how they said there might not be a chance he’ll survive the trip to the hospital, and he remembered how his fists clenched and he had finally broken down in the police car the entire way there.

Now he sat, tears still brimming his eyes but he gave up on trying to remove them.

It had been hours, and he couldn’t move from his spot in the room--sitting closest to the door with his butt halfway off the chair to get to his feet if anyone came in to update him--which they didn’t.

Well, at least not yet.

He didn’t even know if Jack were alive right now, and that thought caused a few tears to fall--however he refused to swipe at them, knowing that would cause the dam to break all over again.

No one wanted that.

He could imagine the frustration Ethan and Tyler would be facing in an attempt to contact him, and it made him wonder to himself--maybe they had a phone.

It took a moment for him to steady his breathing again, and by that time the doctor finally came out from the room. His eyes scanned the room, before focusing on Mark’s non-so-decent state, beckoning him over.

Mark got up like a bullet.

“You’re Mark Fischbach, correct?” The doctor asked him, looking down at his paper. Mark could only manage a nod as the doctor turned on his heel.

“You were listed as one of his emergency contacts.” The doctor noted, and Mark fumbled in his hurried pace to follow the doctor through the plain looking double doors, feeling a little dumbfounded. Why would he be…? Oh, shit, now he remembered. When Jack visited America, that decision was made just in case something happened there. But Jack didn’t change it once he got back…?

…

“His condition is now stable. We’re lucky you came when you did, Jack owes you his life.” The doctor continued, and that just made Mark feel worse. This just felt like a horrible dream, everything too surreal, and what’s worse is the Doctor just seemed so indifferent...everyone did. “His family has been contacted, and will be arriving within an hour at least.” Blue eyes looked up from thick-rimmed glasses. “I’m going to run through his conditions. Can you handle that?”

Could he?

Mark was still processing everything, feeling sick to his stomach all over again. He already threw up on the way over, he didn’t need that again. And yet...if Mark knew how serious his wounds were, in detail, would there be a way he could help Jack? Maybe, he could...no. He chewed his lips, breaking into a sweat as he clenched his fists at his side. It took him longer than it should’ve, but he managed a stiff nod.

The doctor flipped over the paper, scanning through.

“I won’t get too specific.” He began slowly. “But the most major injury is severe trauma to his hand and abdomen.” Mark was expecting more scientific words, but it didn’t take a genius to guess the doctor was dumbing it down for Mark. They paused in front of the room. “We found mold in his stomach, suggesting he’s been eating spoiled foods. He came in with a severe fever, and we had to submerge him into an ice bath immediately.” The doctor’s eyebrows scrunched. “We almost couldn’t treat him in time….ah, and a more recent condition...” He looked up at Mark. “Mister McLoughlin experienced a lung collapse. Thankfully, it was recent, if anything it happened right before he came in. Any longer would have caused severe damage.”

His words seemed to jumble together in Mark’s mind, and he felt dizzy. He stumbled back a bit, sinking into a chair conveniently placed in the hallway. His knees were wobbling, and the Doctor paused, waiting until Mark’s breathing got in check.

“There’s more, isn’t there…” Mark brought up, looking at the Doctor’s knit eyebrows. There was a pause, before a nod.

“Since Mister Mcloughlin was subjected to infected wounds, that look like it could have been there for months at most, there was a chance he could have died. But he didn’t.” A silence. “We might have to perform an amputation on his hand. The wound on his wrist causes a certain infection…” He trailed off to watch Mark’s reaction. “It’s called Necrotizing Fasciitis. Commonly known as the ‘Flesh Eating Bacteria… His skin is deteriorating to the point that we might not be able to cure the damage. That is a last resort, however. I want you to be prepared for the worst.”

“Wait...you mean...if it isn’t sorted out…” Mark began, feeling nausea sweep at him.

“He will have to continue life without a right hand, Mister fischbach. Be prepared for the worst. For now, the wound is receiving special antibiotics and treatment. If it doesn’t sort through, that will be his fate.”

If Mark weren’t sitting down, he would probably have fallen at that.

They stayed like that for ages, the Doctor standing patiently as Mark rode out the waves of nausea building up in his system. It wasn’t until Mark slowly got to his feet, that the Doctor moved--placing a hand on his shoulder and looking at him seriously.

“As for now, he is stable. He underwent surgery, and is currently under a medical influence. If you want to see him, you’re allowed to, due to you being an Emergency Contact.”

The answer was immediate, as Mark immediately perked up and squared his shoulders. The Doc began down the hallway again, and they came across double doors with a sign that read ‘ICU’ overhead. Mark stiffened, remembering his own hospitalization, but pushed past it as the doors were pushed open.

Immediately he could hear wheezing, and coughing, which caused his pace to stumble yet again. The place was more crowded than Mark would have felt comfortable with, since the unit itself was a smaller branch in the hospital. He forced air into his lungs as he passed by hospital eds, the only separation of privacy being a curtain drawn against each one. He forced himself not to look the moment he saw a child having a horrible sounding coughing fit, forcing himself not to look into each area as they pressed forward.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the doctor stopped in front of a bed, and Mark didn’t know what feeling he felt at first. All he knew is that he was sad. No, nothing branching out. Any negative emotion, all morphed into one, it could only be described as _sadness_ as he looked down at the scene before him.

Jack had a breathing tube.

The heart monitor was steady, filling Mark with the overwhelming sense of relief--however he couldn’t stand the sight of the tube. How his lips parted, how he needed help breathing, how he was unconscious through it all. His wrist was wrapped, and the IV was placed into the forearm of the hand where he got stabbed. The blood had leaked through the bandages a bit, staining it a little bit red, but other than that...the wound wasn’t as bad as it was.

His mind flashed back to the screams, the animalistic noise that left Jack’s lips the moment Mark knew the knife made contact. Mark had been blinded by the blood seeping into his eyes, he had been too late--too delirious and shocked to perform the basic human action. His knees buckled, and his eyes stung.

He wouldn’t cry, not here.

Forcing air back into his lungs, he took another steady look. Jack’s chest was rising and falling steadily--thanks to the machine--, and the sickly sweat, plus unnatural redness on his clammy face was gone, probably due to the ice bath. His hair stuck to his face, and oh god he smelled...but Mark couldn’t be repulsed. His fists began to clench at his side, as the doctor left him to his devices he took a seat in the chair next to his bed.

“Jack…” He breathed, as if the other could hear him. The only response was the steady heart-rate.

So he sat, and waited. For what felt like a century, he sat down in that seat, staring at his friend, mind just...blank. He couldn’t think. He refused to, actually, knowing that if he started, he would break down, and Jack wouldn’t want that.

As if he could hear him.

Eventually, he pulled a nurse aside.

“How long until he wakes up?” He asked, almost desperately. The nurse looked rather startled.

“He’s under medication, mister fischbach. He went through trauma. It could be days…”

He didn’t like that answer.

Time wasn’t being checked on at this point, he didn’t care. He just. Couldn’t? He never, ever recalled a time in his life where he had felt like this, at any given moment. It’s like his body caved in, and his mind got the plug pulled on it. He could only process things in short bursts...was this shock? Maybe. He couldn’t remember what the doctor said as he was putting medical tape to keep his wounds temporarily shut.

He didn’t know when he got up and walked out, but he knew it was late at night. Running a hand through his hair, he winced at the grease, and how just...gross and disgusting it was. The dye had faded away more, and he had sweat so badly that some of the dye dribbled down his neck, only to dry in the cool air of the hospital.

Needless to say, he was a mess.

What’s the first step of having a panic attack? What was the message, in that game he played? He looked up, focusing on a certain dot on the ceiling, and took deep, deep breaths as he tried to calm himself down.

Getting worked up wouldn’t help Jack, would it? He can already imagine his chirpy voice, telling him to keep his chin up, that he can get passed this...back when his voice had to much mirth, that is.

Stop that.

He groaned, rubbing at his eyes as he made himself relax, if not for a little bit. He felt so conflicted, and he couldn’t think straight, and the sight of that breathing tube made him want to cry, and scream, and pick up the chair and smash it against the wall in his misery. No, wait, what was it he said earlier? It wouldn’t help Jack. Grieving like this wouldn’t help Jack at all…

So instead, he leaned against the wall after exiting the ICU building, eyes trailing over to the wall across from him, where a telephone was hung up for free use. 

Jack was alive. He was okay..

Mark had a few calls to make.

**Author's Note:**

> mmmmmmMmmmmMmmmMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM


End file.
